Never Dare Believe
by dandelioness
Summary: When Castiel Milton suddenly returns to Lawrence, Dean thinks back on their friendship of fifteen years ago and wonders if there's still a chance for things to change. Title from Melissa Etheridge's "Shriner's Park," on which this is loosely based.
1. Chapter 1

_(Edit)A/N: Okay, so as I finish up this story, I'm taking the opportunity to go back to the beginning and put a bunch of stuff where it belongs. Mostly, warnings._

_So. The beginning's pretty benign, but once the flashback starts, there's some things you should know. Warnings for alcoholism, drug abuse, underage alcohol and drug use/abuse, depression, allusions to suicidal ideation, references to child abuse/domestic violence, verbal abuse, homophobia, no really some serious homophobic shit coming out of the mouths of parental units, so much bigoted assholery, and also language (both cussing and homophobic slurs). Some stuff I manage to warn ahead of time on the chapters where they're specifically relevant, but I figured an overall warning at the beginning would probably be a good plan._

_Anyway, it's not always as serious as the laundry list of warnings makes it out to be, so, uh, yeah. Aaaaand, begin!_

"Sammy!" Dean says cheerfully into his cell (carefully balanced between his ear and shoulder) as he simultaneously flips a pancake and scrambles an egg. Damn, but he's gotten good at this whole domesticity thing. "What're you calling for on this fine November morning?"

_"You know why, Dean,"_ Sam sighs over the airwaves, and he can _hear_ the kid bitchfacing at him from a thousand miles away. _"Jess just called because Jo says Ellen told her you still haven't RSVP'd for Thanksgiving."_

"That's quite the gossip chain you got going there, Samantha," Dean remarks, and then, shouting over the sizzling of eggs and bacon, "Ben! Breakfast, kid!"

"Coming!" comes the distant response, followed by the pounding of stocking feet on stairs.

_"Dean – "_ Aaaaand Sammy is using his warning voice, so Dean gives a sigh and maybe a bit of a bitchface of his own, taking his sweet time doling breakfast out onto three plates before responding.

"I didn't realize this was the sort of shindig you had to RSVP to. Damn, Bobby and Ellen gettin' all fancy on us when our backs are turned." He can hear the impatience in the pause, and hurries on before his little brother can get even more annoying. "'Course I'm coming, Sam, I thought I told Ellen. Or Bobby, at least. Anyway, Lisa's bringing Ben to her mom's for the holiday, and Thanksgiving's a time for family, right? Where else would I go but good ol' Lawrence?"

_"Alright, good,"_ Sam sighs again, but this time in apparent relief. Dean imagines him closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose like he does when he's stressed or has a headache. _"Sorry for being so irritable, it's just a lot of pressure lately, I've got this huge case I'm closing on Thursday, and what with the pregnancy and all – "_

"Yeah, how is the coming hellspawn? Here, bring this to your mom, will you?" he adds as Ben appears beside him. The kid grins and nods, shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth before disappearing with two of the plates.

_"The baby's fine, Ruby's fine, she just wants more salt than usual or something, I don't know, I think it's a hormone thing."_ In the background, Dean hears Ruby's voice.

_"Speaking of, husband, I need French fries."_

_ "Ruby, it's seven o'clock in the morning."_

_ "Baby don't care, Sam-o, feed me French fries."_

"Better do as she says, Sammy," Dean laughs, "You're a married man now, and gonna be a dad. Better get used to doing as you're told."

_"You're my brother, I thought you were supposed to be on my side. Jerk."_ Sam's whining, but he's laughing, so it's all good.

"Bitch." Dean grins as he shovels a forkful of his own breakfast into his mouth, making sure to chew extra loud so Sam can hear it over the line.

_"That's gross, Dean,"_ Sam says, sighing _again_, but then his tone suddenly changes. He's serious now, nervous, a bit like he was at the beginning of the conversation. _"Hey, Dean, there's, uh, there's something else Jess said Ellen mentioned. Thought you should know."_

"What is it Sammy?" he asks, unconsciously tensing. "Someone die?" It's only half a joke. He's lost too much for it to be more than half.

_"No, no, nothing like that, it's just…You know that Missouri's been renting out our old place since she bought it years back?"_

"Yeah, Sammy, old news. House has too much history to sell, she said." And isn't that the damned truth.

_"Well, she just got a new renter. Short-term lease or something."_ Sam's talking like he's treading lightly now, which Dean doesn't get, because he and Sammy haven't lived there for about a decade, not since Sam went off to college and Dad died in The Accident, so it's not like a new tenant is gonna upset Dean now.

"What's wrong, Sam. Don't like the new guy or something?"

_"No, it's just…You won't believe this, but – Dean, it's Cas staying in our old place. Castiel Milton."_

[this is a line break]

Lisa finds him in his room late that night, hours after they've both gotten off work, after Ben has fallen asleep. Dean is hunched over a battered old shoebox, usually hidden in the back of his closet, silently debating whether or not to open it. He's gripping it so tightly his knuckles are white, and he doesn't even notice Lisa come in until she sits on the bed next to him and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," he says, without looking over at her, just grateful his voice doesn't break on the word.

"Hey yourself," she returns. "Everything okay? You've been out of sorts since Sam called this morning. Something go wrong with the great and magical Thanksgiving plans?" She smiles a little bit when Dean finally turns, and he can't help but almost smile in return. He's been talking about going home for Thanksgiving for weeks, no matter Sam or Ellen or anyone else thinks.

"That obvious, huh?" And Lisa just gives him this look, because, really, of course she knows. Next to Sam, Lisa is probably Dean's best friend. They had hooked up a couple of times years ago, back when Lisa was a yoga instructor and Dean was on his cross-country road trip, the one that had lasted years and only ended with The Accident. He and Lisa had parted on good terms, but back then, she hadn't meant more than any of the other girls (and guys) he met and slept with and moved on from by getting in the Impala and driving away.

They had met again years later, at one of the lowest points of Dean's life. After The Accident, money had gotten tight, what with hospital bills and all, and Dean's sometimes-job as a mechanic at Bobby's hadn't been cutting it. Sam had been threatening to drop out of school and start working, but Dean couldn't let him, so he basically sold his soul to the highest bidder and ended up in insurance sales several states away. It had been fine, for a while, but eventually the job, combined with all the other shit going on in his life, had just become too much. One day, Dean had lost it completely, cussing out his boss, this dick Zachariah Adler. In the ensuing chaos, Dean may or may not have thrown a computer out of his fourth-floor window.

He had, of course, been fired. Pretty much all his earnings had been going to pay Sam's tuition for undergrad and then law school, so he couldn't even afford rent in his shitty apartment at the end of the month, let alone the court-prescribed therapy sessions. On his last day in his apartment before he got evicted, he happened to run into Lisa at the grocery store. One thing led to another, she bought him lunch, they caught up on each other's lives, he spilled his guts, and she offered to rent him her spare bedroom.

That had been almost three years ago. He's back in a garage now, working on cars, because that's what he likes best, and he's damn good at it. Sam is making enough money as a defense attorney in sunny California to pay his own bills, and Lisa has straight-up domesticated Dean. He's learned to cook more than he ever did when he was practically raising Sammy on spaghetti-o's and ramen. He does dishes, mows the lawn, and even drives Ben to soccer practice, almost like a real dad or something.

People always think he and Lisa are a couple, especially when Dean does stuff with Ben, but they aren't. They tried again, for a little bit, but they're better off as friends and housemates, and they both like it that way. It's been good. Not exactly what he was looking for, the few times when he imagined himself living the apple pie lifestyle, but it's good.

He realizes it's taking him a long time to say anything, mostly because he doesn't know what to say. He's never told Lisa about Cas. He's never told anyone about Cas.

"I told you how our friend Missouri rents out the old Winchester homestead, back in Lawrence, right?" he finally manages, and Lisa just nods. "Sam was telling me the new tenant is this guy…we knew him growing up, he and I were best friends when we were kids – " Jesus shit, he's bungling this up. What the hell is he supposed to say, though? "He and I – he was my first boyfriend." And there it is, almost.

"Ah, young love," Lisa jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but it falls flat. Dean shakes his head, because that's not it, not really.

"He and I – his parents were real religious, and when they found out – they sent Cas away," and his voice sounds rough on Cas' name, like it wants to break but can't, is too stubborn. "Then they left town. I never saw or heard from him again."

Lisa lets the silence settle for a few seconds before she replies. "But you're pretty torn up about the fact that he's back in town, considering this had to be what, fifteen years ago?" Dean's heart twists at the realization that yeah, it has been that long, holy crap. His mouth tightens, because he knows that Lisa's right, this should be way in the past by now, but it's not. And because it's Lisa he's talking to, the words come spilling out anyway.

"Yeah, but, I don't know, Lisa, maybe it was just that we were teenagers or whatever, but I haven't – I mean, I got kinda serious with Cassie for a month or so, but really – he was the only one –" Dean Winchester does not even _think_ words like 'soul mates,' but if he did – "the only one I was ever serious about, and then he was just _gone_, you know? Maybe if we'd had a falling out, or an ugly breakup, or even just ended when he went off to school or whatever, I'd be over it, 'cause you're right, it's stupid not to be, but – I don't know, I guess it just feels like unfinished business, and it's right down the street from my great and magical Thanksgiving plans."

Lisa moves her hand from his shoulder to wrap both arms around him in a quick sideways hug. "Well, maybe you should go see him while you're in town. Get it resolved so you can move on?"

Dean doesn't say that there is no moving on from Castiel Milton, that he's been trying to move on for years but he still ends up in the beds of men with dark hair and blue eyes who are only ever one-nights stands because they're not who he's looking for. That every time he hit a new town on his road trip, every time he moved somewhere new, he always checked the Miltons in the phonebook to see if there was a listing for a Castiel. That he still dreams of Cas' half-smile and of quiet days by the lake. He doesn't want to sound lovesick or melodramatic anymore than he already does, so he doesn't say any of this.

Instead, he just puts one arm around Lisa's waist and gives a brief squeeze and murmurs, "Yeah."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short, especially after the wait. But it's totally okay, I promise, I have the next chapter and a half done and in the editing process. If all goes as planned, and I can get Internet access, the new chapter should be up this weekend, and we'll get to see our boys in high school, yaaay! Also, thanks so much for the positive feedback, I really appreciate it! Y'all are awesome :)_

The shoebox sits on his bed, unopened, for the next week. Every night, Dean stares at it, holds it, debates opening the lid. Every night, after staying up way later than he usually does doing absolutely nothing but hold that damn box, he sighs, loosens his grip, and places it on the empty side of the bed (because he always sleeps on one side, never the whole bed, damned if he knows why), and goes to sleep. During the day, he's increasingly antsy and irritable, to the point where Ben's avoiding him and Lisa finally snaps at him to call Sam or leave early or something, but just get the hell over himself.

Finally, the Tuesday night before Thanksgiving, he changes routine. He's gotta leave for Lawrence in the morning, and he suddenly knows that he can't go, not like this. So in a moment of desperation, he rips the tattered top off the box and dumps its contents on the bed.

It's mostly photographs, polaroids that are starting to lose their color with time. Pictures of Dean and Sam and Cas in elementary school on the swingset in the Winchesters' backyard; of an adolescent Cas holding a baseball bat in confusion as Dean tries to teach him to swing and Sammy laughs in the background clutching a catcher's mitt; of a pair of fishing poles side by side on the dock at the lake; of Cas' face, blue eyes bright with silent laughter. There's a faded red construction paper heart (a Valentine from Cas in the third grade); a lumpy friendship bracelet in green and blue embroidery floss that Dean had stopped wearing in sixth grade (because Dad had once called it 'girly') but had kept all the same; a single piece of lined paper, creased where it used to be folded into an airplane (a remarkably good one, one that had flown from the window of a moving car to the Winchesters' lawn on that last day, landing perfectly), but completely flat now from being touched and held and read over and over and over.

It is this last that Dean carefully removes from the pile and clutches tightly, in hands much older and more calloused than the hands that had last held it fifteen years ago. He looks at it without seeing it, but it doesn't matter, because though the years have faded the scribbled pencil markings, the words are still burned into his brain. Cas' usually neat and tidy script is slanted and hurried smudged; the message is brief:

_Dean – I know we never said it but it's always been implied but right now I want you to know – no matter what happens or what they tell you or even what I tell you trust me in this – I love you._

On Wednesday morning, Dean's bag is packed and in the trunk of the Impala, the shoebox is back in its place in the back of his closet, and he's hugging Lisa and Ben goodbye as they get into their minivan to go to Lisa's mom's. Ben's super-excited; he only gets to see his cousins two or three times a year, so holidays are always the highlight of his month. Lisa pauses, standing in the doorway of the van, looking at Dean with concern wrinkling her brow. Dean knows what she's thinking.

"I'll be okay," he promises quietly. "I'm sorry about this last week, but I'll be normal by the time I get back. Sammy will bitch me out of my funk." He smiles, and it's only a little forced.

"Okay. Just…well, say hi to the Lawrence clan for me, okay?"

"'Course. Same to your family. I'll see you in a few days."

She nods and gets in the car. Dean watches, waving to Ben through the back window as they drive away, a strange feeling of dread growing in his chest. He tries to shake it off as he gets into the Impala, tries to remind himself that he's got four days with his mismatched family to look forward to, but it doesn't last.

"Okay, Baby," he murmurs as he turns the key, drawing comfort from the familiar sound of the engine starting. "Let's go home."

It's a nine hour drive from Cicero, Indiana to Lawrence, Kansas, with only his Dad's old cassette tapes to keep him company. Them, and the memories of a summer fifteen years ago that, unlike the photographs in the shoebox, haven't faded at all.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: And suddenly, high school AU! Here is the next chapter, as promised, from a McDonald's somewhere in West Virginia. I had some formatting issues this time, ones that I don't really have the time/patience to work out at the moment, so forgive the line breaks that read, 'this is a line break.' Also, realized I've been forgetting that one staple of fic everywhere, the disclaimer, so: I don't own or pretend to own any of this, blah blah, imitation is a form of flattery, blah blah, all ripping off of characters is done with great love and devotion._

[this is a line break]

"Free at last!" Dean crowed as they stepped out of the cool interior of the ugly-ass brick high school and into the hot, clear June sunlight. He paused, stretching his arms high above his head, ignoring the press of students swarming around him in their desperation to escape into summer vacation.

"Dean," Cas sighed in exasperation, (but his mouth twitched in amusement, so it totally didn't count). "You are blocking the exits. If you don't come with me right now, as far from this hellhole as is humanly possible, I'm afraid I'll have to report you as a fire hazard."

"Cas, Cas," Dean sighed right back, shaking his head. He draped an arm around his friend's shoulders and steered them both toward the parking lot. "What you don't understand is, it doesn't matter now. We can do whatever the hell we want. We can stand in doorways. We can pick on freshmen. We, my friend, are now officially seniors, and that makes us gods."

"If you say so – "

"I do say so."

" – Then I believe you. But please, let's save all those wonderful activities for next year and right now just _get the hell out_."

"Alright, alright, fine." Dean rolled his eyes as they reached the Impala. The crush of students was less now, all the underclassmen having been stuffed onto buses and the seniors having skipped the last half of the day anyway in their eagerness to get gone. He opened the door and, taking his arm from around Cas, playfully shoved the other boy into the passenger seat. "Then get in the car, dude, let's get going."

They had barely made it out of the parking lot, windows down and Zeppelin blasting (Dean singing along loudly as he only ever dared with Cas or Sam), when Cas shuffled around and pulled something out of his bag. Dean glanced over and saw Cas' long fingers were clutched around a battered box of cigarettes, Cas fumbling one out with his mouth. Dean gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter, and when he spoke, his voice was strained.

"Speaking of fire hazards…"

"Dean, please – " Cas froze, unlit cigarette held in his teeth. They'd had this argument before, over and over for the past year (and, Dean hadn't failed to notice, more and more often recently).

"I just don't want my baby smelling like that shit, okay?" It was the only thing he could think of to say that wouldn't start something.

"Fine, I won't smoke in your car," Cas conceded with barely concealed irritation as he shoved the cigarette back into the carton.

"I wish you wouldn't smoke at all," Dean blurted before he could stop himself. Cas' entire body tensed, but he didn't say anything. He never said anything, and it just pissed Dean off. Normally, Dean would say something back at the silence, probably something stupid that Cas didn't need to hear. Something about didn't his mom notice how many boxes of her cigarettes went missing (Cas would snap back that, half the time, Lilith wasn't even aware she had children). Something about how the tar would kill him (Cas would say that living here was killing him faster). Something about Jesus Christ, Cas, I know something's wrong, won't you please just fucking _talk_ to me (Cas would say that there was nothing to talk about, Dean, and the car would fall silent and things wouldn't be right between them again for hours, sometimes days).

But junior year was over, it was officially the first day of summer, they were free and it was sunny and they had an hour before they had to pick up Sam from middle school. So Dean didn't say any of those things. Instead, he let out a long, pent-up breath of frustration, ran a hand through his hair, and just shook his head.

"Sorry, man. Let's – let's not do this today." Cas just nodded, looking out the window. Dean hated that the most – when Cas wouldn't look at him. "Hey, you wanna drive down to the park before we go to pick up Sammy?" The real question there, of course, was: Do you think we can get away with not bringing you home for a while?

Cas (finally) turned toward Dean, staring so intently it was hard for Dean to keep his focus on the road. After a minute he nodded, a smile starting to tug at the corners of his mouth again; Dean grinned, mostly from relief, and turned up the stereo.

[this is a line break]

Dean had been friends with Castiel Milton almost as long as he could remember. Most of Dean's memories before Cas were of his mother, so he figured they must have met sometime after Mary's death when Dean was four. He would've just asked his dad to find out for sure, but casual conversation with John Winchester was generally something Dean tried to avoid.

In any case, Cas had basically been his best friend forever. They had held hands on the playground in elementary school. They had learned how to cook spaghettio's on the Winchester's stove together when they were eight and John had come home too drunk to cook for the first time and Sammy was crying from hunger. They had learned how best to sneak in and out of their respective houses by the age of ten, greatly assisted by the fact that Dad Winchester and Mom Milton seemed to be in competition for Lawrence's Most Neglectful Parent.

Dean had taught Cas how to play baseball. Cas had taught Dean how to do algebra. Cas had made room for Dean and Sam on nights when John was feeling mean; Dean had given up his bed when Lilith was in the hospital for an accidental overdose, and fourteen-year-old Cas was afraid to be there, and afraid to be alone.

Cas had watched as John Winchester went from a decent father who was a mean drunk to a barely functioning alcoholic who occasionally remembered he was also a father. He didn't ask questions when Dean showed up at school with a new bruise, just pursed his lips and was careful about Dean's personal space for a change. When John's driver's license had finally been taken away for good last year, Cas didn't ask why Dean suddenly had full ownership of the Impala, and instead just remarked that he assumed this meant he had a ride to school from now on.

In turn, Dean had watched as Lilith tried and failed to cope with being a single parent. Cas' dad left when he was only a year or so old, and the family was so bitter about it they all used Lilith's last name, and woe be to anyone who mentioned Charles Shurley in their presence. Lilith's decline had started with some sort of drug prescribed by her therapist for her depression or anxiety or something, and everything had gone downhill from there – up the dosage, add some new pills, up the dosage, on and on in an unchanging cycle. By the time Cas was in middle school, she was forgetting to pick him up from band practice, and Gabe and Anna would have to steal the car to go get him. By the time they were freshmen, Lilith's brother Michael moved in with the Miltons to "care" for Gabriel, Anna, and Castiel.

And when his care was so strict that Gabriel ran away at the age of sixteen, Dean had helped Cas look everywhere for a way to find him, or at least contact him. When Anna was sent to juvie shortly thereafter, it was Dean who helped Cas plan to bust her out so he wouldn't be alone; and it was Dean who made sure Cas still wasn't alone when Anna broke herself out of juvie to join her twin brother, wherever he was, leaving the youngest Milton to fend for himself.

So yeah, they had seen the shit that addiction did to a family. Dean had seen how his dad's drinking could get under Sammy's skin, turn his little brother into an angry stranger. With Lilith, he had seen how Gabe had laughed it off until he became incapable of taking anything seriously and skipped town, abandoning his family when shit got too tough. He had seen the price Anna paid for rebellion under the care of her uncle, until her mother's absent presence had driven her away, too. And he had seen – was seeing – how it was slowly destroying his best friend.

Dean wasn't sure when it had started, only that it was sometime after Michael moved in. Yeah, life sucked with Lilith as a parent, but Michael was worse. It was a total 180 – from Lilith's drugged neglect to Michael's overbearing need for constant control. Ridiculously strict and hyper-religious, he was not an especially fun person to be around, and his failure to keep the Milton twins in line was being taken out on Cas a hundredfold. Cas spent more time grounded than not, and was technically forbidden from speaking to or hanging out with Dean, fat lotta good that did. Michael liked going on about the liberals, about the feminazis, about the homosexuals, about the atheists destroying America to anyone who would listen, and to Cas, whether he listened or not.

About a year after Michael's arrival on the scene, Gabe had called Dean, practically begging him to come over to Meg Masters' place because Cas was drunk and being belligerent and needed his damn boyfriend to come calm him down. Not long after that, Dean had started finding the cartons of cigarettes tucked into the side pockets of Cas' messenger bag. Before tenth grade was over, they'd had their biggest fight ever when Dean went over to the Miltons' and Cas' room reeked of pot. The fights continued, only getting worse, more tense. When Dean found empty bottles in Cas' locker; when a fake ID slid out of Cas' wallet.

It wasn't that bad, not really. It wasn't like Cas came to school drunk (except that once, but he'd had an awful fight with Michael that lasted until three in the morning, so Dean supposed –hoped – that was probably just a one-time thing). It wasn't like he was stoned constantly (except some weekends, when he started getting smoking Friday afternoon and wasn't sober again until Monday morning). It wasn't like he was stealing his mother's pills (except for that one time, the night of junior prom, when Dean and Cas were supposed to hang out but Cas had called to tell Dean he'd been grounded again and wasn't feeling well anyway and his voice sounded suspiciously hazy and really kinda off and Dean hadn't been able to make himself ask why).

It wasn't like Cas was Lilith or John, but it pissed Dean off all the same. Really, after all the crap Cas had seen their parents do, everything they'd put their kids through, how could he even want to touch shit like that? Dean couldn't even think of going near alcohol, afraid that every drop of beer would make him more like his father. So how could Cas be so friggin cool about this shit, so nonchalant, so, so – goddammit, how could he use _that fucking shit_ to deal with his life when Dean was right there?

Every time Dean saw Cas' eyes red from the weed or from a hangover, or glazed from some unnamed prescription thing that Dean didn't even dare think about, he felt his gut clench tight with anger and yeah, with fear. Fear that he wasn't doing his job as a friend, fear that Cas was getting harder to reach, getting further away. Fear that he was losing his best friend.

So no, it wasn't that bad, not really. Not yet.

And that was the part that scared Dean most.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and things, folks, I really really really really really (etc) appreciate it! Here's the next chapter, I know it's short, but I hope it's good enough to tide you over for a bit. Things are a bit hectic on the home front right now, so I'm not sure when I'll next be able to finish/post the next chapter. Once again, no ownership of anything here, etc, aaaaand enjoy!_

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It had been a week since the official start of summer vacation, and so far, it was nothing like the glorious freedom the boys had imagined when speeding away from school in the Impala.

Michael had intensified his (usually futile) efforts to keep Cas away from Dean, and this time, had somehow managed to keep Cas locked up for the past week. Tonight, however, was different: Cas had managed to get a message to Dean via the Roadhouse to say he'd be able to get away after ten. The two weren't exactly used to spending more than a day apart, and Dean was anxious to see his friend; his eyes kept darting to his watch and his leg jiggled nervously as he waited.

He had parked the Impala under the third streetlamp on the street two blocks east of the Milton house, the same meeting place they'd been using since middle school. The only difference between those days and now was that, instead of wandering the suburbs by foot like the pair of conspicuous young hooligans they were, Dean drove them out to the park to wander around there like the pair of conspicuous young hooligans they were.

Cas was almost twenty minutes late.

Which, okay, yeah, happened, because it wasn't like it was exactly easy to plan sneaking out, but usually Cas was pretty good about this, or about at least getting him some kind of signal or something. Dean was starting to consider breaking their avoid-Michael's-wrath-at-all-costs rules and driving slowly around Cas' block when the Cas in question appeared from nowhere to yank open the passenger door and fling himself into Dean's car.

"Dude – " Dean choked out in relief once he got over the scare, but Cas cut him off.

"Yes, I'm late, I apologize, please, let's get out and to the park before we have actual conversation because I need _quiet_ for a few minutes." Cas' eyes were closed tight, and he was doing that thing with his hands he did when he was stressed – fingertips pressed together and steepled under his chin. Dean thought he looked sober, though Cas' expression said he'd rather not be.

Instead of replying, Dean just nodded and put Baby in gear. They drove in silence, without even the radio to accompany the rumble of the engine, which only made Dean antsy. Cas, however, seemed to relax as they drove on, his hands slowly coming to rest in his lap, his eyes opening to fix on the darkened Lawrence scenery, such that it was. Though Dean kept shooting concerned glances his way, Cas never looked back at him, instead resting his forehead on the cool glass.

True to his (unspoken) word, Dean didn't say anything else until they had gotten to the park, hiding the car in their usual space beneath an old weeping willow. He waited for Cas' cue to get out of the car, to start walking the familiar path, to settle their strides in rhythm together. Even then, he waited for Cas to speak first. It took a few minutes, and it was pretty much what Dean expected, given Cas' behavior when he first got in the car.

"Michael was yelling again tonight," Cas said quietly, staring straight ahead. Michael yelling was apparently something that happened pretty often, though Dean had never seen it. The thing about Michael Milton was that he managed to look and act like a charming, calm, and reasonable pillar of the community in public – even when going on about his stupid religious and political prejudices, hell, even when talking to Dean – but was a harsh, and rather loud, tyrant in private. And that was what Cas couldn't handle, more than anything else – more than the bigoted tirades, more than his mother's addiction, more than the restrictions on his free time. Cas hated yelling, hated conflict (why he was friends with Dean was anyone's guess).

"I'm sorry, man," Dean replied, just as softly. It was really all he could say. "It's quiet out here, though."

Cas nodded, and they walked again in silence for a little while, until Cas took the conversation in a completely unexpected direction.

"Graduation was today." Cas' voice sounded even lower than normal.

"Really?" Dean asked when it became clear that Cas wasn't going to continue, mostly for lack of anything else to say. Cas nodded, pulling a battered pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket. Dean opened his mouth to snap, but Cas just looked at him like – like it was the end of everything and this was his last request or something, it was pathetic. But it shut Dean up, so. They walked along like that, Dean silent and Cas smoking, almost peaceful but not quite. It was nearly a full minute before anything else was said.

"Gabriel and Anna should have walked across that stage." Cas' tone was tense, a thin layer of sorrow over barely concealed anger, and rough from the smoke. "They should have walked – Anna should have been valedictorian and given a speech, and Gabriel should have flipped off Principal Henrikson after getting his diploma. I should have been cheering them on with Mom.

"They should have been there. Here."

Dean didn't know what to say. He never did. He missed Gabe and Anna (well, mostly Anna, who he had once dated briefly; Gabe, not so much), but he didn't miss them like Cas did. And Dean's missing them was mostly drowned out by how friggin pissed off it made him that they had ditched their brother to the shitshow that was the Milton family. So whenever Cas got like this, missing them, torn between wanting them back and hating them for being gone, Dean just didn't know what to do. Nothing he could say would make it any less shitty, he knew, so he settled for the next best thing – distraction.

"Yeah, well, think of it this way," he said lightly, nudging Cas' shoulder with his own. "This time next year, it'll be us walking the stage. You can make a speech and I'll flip off Henrikson in Gabe's honor, and then we can go on our merry way and never see Lawrence High again."

Cas snorted. "I suppose." He kicked a stone from the path along ahead of them as they walked and took a long drag from his cigarette. "That's actually what Michael has been keeping me so busy with this past week – college nonsense." Dean looked up sharply – Cas had never mentioned college before – but Cas just stared at the rock he was kicking. "He seems to be under the impression that I'm going to be off to some kind of Ivy League education next fall."

"Well, aren't you?" Dean prodded, because, yeah, they'd never talked about it, but he had always assumed that Cas was college-bound. Unlike Dean. Unless – "What, do you not have the grades anymore or something?"

"Of course I have the grades, I have not yet fallen so low in my drugged haze, Dean." Cas sounded almost amused, which was a good sign, Dean thought. Better than he usually reacted when Dean brought up, or even alluded to, Cas' burgeoning substance abuse habits. "Besides, I have to keep my grades up unless I want my favorite uncle to get even more fascist about my free time."

"So why don't you think you're going to college?" he pressed.

"What are your plans for after graduation, Dean?" Cas shot back. Totally not fair.

"Come on, no changing the subject, I asked first – "

"Humor me," Cas said flatly in his don't-argue-with-me-Dean-Winchester voice.

Dean groaned and wandered off the path to flop on the ground; Cas paused to drop and stomp out his cigarette before he followed. The grass felt nice, even if it was damp with dew; cool and fresh after a long, hot day at the start of what promised to be a hot summer. The night was clear and moonless, and the stars were bright. He and Cas had both laid down the same way, with their arms folded up behind their heads, and their elbows pressed together. Dean took comfort in the point of contact as he gave his answer.

"I mean, I dunno, I haven't really thought about it." He could practically hear Cas raising his eyebrows, and he rolled his eyes. "Okay, so I have, I just – I'll probably stay here, you know, work for Bobby until Sam goes to school, and then figure something out."

"What about your Great American Road Trip?" Cas asked. "You know, the one you've been talking about since we were about twelve years old."

"I don't know, man," Dean sighed in frustration. "I want to, but – I mean, I could, I've thought about it, I could if I came back every month or two to work some and check up on Sam, but I think the real epic road trip's gonna have to wait 'til after Sammy heads off to college himself." Dean turned his head to frown at his friend. "What, you honestly thought I was just gonna up and leave, leave Sammy with Dad? I'm not gonna just ditch my family, Cas, I'm not – "

Dean cut off abruptly when he realized what he had been about to say, but he saw Cas' jaw tense and knew that Cas had heard it anyway.

"Look, I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean – "

"No, you're right. You're not Anna and Gabriel. I should have known you'd do right by your brother." Cas turned his head so he was facing Dean, and his face was softer than Dean expected, not as bitter. In fact, Dean noted with surprise, there were traces of a smile around his eyes. "There's a reason I've always preferred your company to that of my family, Dean, and it is largely because they are, in Gabriel's words, a great big bag of dicks."

Dean had to snort a laugh at that, mostly because it was true, but also because Cas using any Gabe-ism was always hilarious. They both went back to staring at the stars in silence for a few minutes, but then Cas spoke up again.

"Actually, the reason why I asked about the road trip was – I don't think I want to enter the wonderful world of post-secondary education just yet, and I want –" Cas cut off, hesitant, seemingly unsure about how he wanted to phrase exactly what it was he wanted. "Dean, I think I would like to look for my father."

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he rolled over onto his side to stare at Cas in disbelief. Cas' own eyes remained fixed on the sky.

"And I mean, I have no idea where he is, he could be in New Mexico on a tortilla for all I know, but I had wondered if maybe, if you wanted to road trip and didn't have a particular destination or agenda in mind, if perhaps you would like to combine the two endeavors." Cas was talking super-fast and slipping into that weird, formal way of yapping he used when he was nervous, and Dean could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"Let me get this straight," he said finally, when the crickets had gotten really unbearably loud. "You want to skip out on college – when you could basically have your pick of schools – you want to skip that, to come road tripping with me and look for your deadbeat dad."

"You know, I managed to make it sound much more glamorous, not to mention reasonable, in my head," Cas commented dryly. "Is that a yes?"

"Hell yeah, it's a yes, if you're sure. Just, like I said, we'd have to come back, to check on Sammy and stuff. But we can work that out." Dean laughed, because _holy shit_ what an awesome idea. "Dude, you're gonna get sick of me, cramped up in the Impala all day long."

It was Cas' turn to laugh. "Dean, if I were going to get sick of you, I'm sure it would have happened a long time ago. Besides, this last week without you has been unbearable, how in the hell am I supposed to survive without you for an entire semester at a time?"

"Hear, hear."

But Cas suddenly turned serious, and turned to face Dean fully. "This is something we'll really do, right? Not just something two kids say they'll do and then forget about?"

"Yeah, Cas, 'course we'll really do it. I promise." The intensity of the question knocked the grin off of Dean's face.

"Shake on it," Cas said solemnly, extending the hand closest to Dean towards his face.

"Promise," Dean repeated in the same tone, grasping Cas' hand in his. Cas rolled back onto his back, practically grinning with relief, and Dean did the same. Somehow, though, their hands stayed clasped, and they lay like that, looking at the stars and talking about nonsense and about their future (because, Dean marveled, they had one now, they had a future after high school), for another hour or two before heading home.

Serious as their promise had been, Dean couldn't keep the smile off his face all night. It was the best they had been in a long while, him and Cas, the most _right_ things had been between them in a long while. Cas only smoked the one cigarette, they didn't argue about the alcohol or the drugs, they didn't even talk about their family bullshit. It was just them, and it was great. Almost too good to be true.

So really, when everything went to shit shortly afterward, Dean guessed he really should have seen it coming.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for the super-long wait, folks. I had to take the GRE last weekend, so I've been doing basically nothing but study for weeks. But I'm back, and should be writing and updating on a regular basis again, yay!_

_For this chapter, I'm gonna stick a warning in up here regarding language - there be tossing about of homophobic slurs (f-bomb included) ahead. Also, I just realized I should've been warning all along for discussion of substance abuse problems and for underage drug and alcohol use for Cas. I'm sorry! I'm still new to actually posting the things I write, so thanks for bearing with me._

_And also the traditional disclaimer, I own nothing etc etc, the idea of intellectual property is severely flawed to begin with but I don't intend any copyright infringement, etc etc._

When the world came crashing down around Dean's ears, it was completely and totally the fault of one Joanna Beth Harvelle. Okay, maybe he was being melodramatic. It was just some stupid, offhand remark. She didn't even mean anything by it, Dean knew, but then, as far as he was concerned, that did not excuse her.

They were hanging out at the Roadhouse – Jo, him and Sam – because it was a summer afternoon and it was raining and it was friggin _Lawrence_ and there was nothing better to do. Normally, Dean worked over at Bobby's salvage yard-slash-auto repair place, but when he'd shown up this morning, Bela Talbot had been there and Bobby had sent him packing. Dean didn't mind the day off, but the only place to go was the Roadhouse, and Bela being in town put Ellen in a foul mood.

Bela Talbot was this (super hot) British traveling sales lady (and that was the absolute least sketchy way to describe whatever her job was) who came through town every once in a while. She spent her days flirting with and buying from the locals and her nights were spent – more often than not – at Bobby's place instead of her hotel. Dean tried very, very hard not to think about this, because Bobby was like a foster dad or something and it just wasn't right, okay? Also, Bobby and Ellen had this whole on-again-off-again thing going on that they liked to pretend no one else knew about, so Ellen kinda hated Bela a little bit. Even though Dean knew for a fact that she and Bobby were off-again at the moment and had been for a while, but maybe that just made it worse. To be fair, here was also the matter of Bela being incredibly sketchy and also an enormous bitch, but that didn't really lessen her appeal to Dean at all. Or Sam. Or Jo. (Sometimes he wondered about Jo.)

So Ellen was pissed because Bela was in town and Bobby didn't tell her Bela was in town and she had to find out through Dean and also Ash apparently blew something up earlier that may or may not have had to do with a power surge which may or may not have had to do with that pile of electronics that he insisted was some kind of homemade computer in the backroom. (It really wasn't all too clear whether it was actually a computer or some kind of doomsday device, and no one seemed willing to investigate too closely. Ash could be intense for a fourteen-year-old.) So a change of topic was in order, and Dean tried to provide it by asking after Cas.

He and Cas had this system that Ellen was a grudging participant in, necessary because Dean couldn't go over to Cas' or even call the house without Michael throwing a damn temper tantrum. But, for whatever reason, Michael respected Ellen (the reverse was not even a little bit true), and also Cas tutored Jo in math during the school year, so he was basically allowed to hang out at the Roadhouse whenever he wanted. Unless he was grounded. Which was pretty often. Generally for talking to Dean. Anyway, the system worked like this: Cas'd come around the Roadhouse, and if Dean wasn't there, he'd leave a message with Ellen or Jo to tell Dean when he next thought he'd be able to get out, and Dean would do the same. It was frustrating and shitty, but it worked. Ellen didn't like sneaking around behind anyone's back, but she didn't like Michael, and she _did_ like Dean and Cas, so they won out in the end.

"Any word from Cas today, Ellen?" Dean asked over the sound of Jo and Sam bickering about some television show. Ellen looked up from where she sat at the bar, bent over an accounting book with a frown and a calculator.

"No, honey, not today. Didn't you just see him last night? I told him you'd be around."

"Yeah, yeah, no we hung out last night," Dean said hurriedly, actively trying to block from his mind that he may have, in fact, _held hands_ with another person last night. And that that other person may have been friggin _Cas_ of all people. "I just hate not knowing what's up with him, you know? 'Sweird not seeing him everyday."

"I know, hon." Ellen's smile was a little too sympathetic for Dean's taste, but he ignored it in favor of nursing his root beer. Sam and Jo were both giving him looks.

"What?" he said, when it finally got too much. Wrong answer, apparently, because Jo broke out into this sharkish grin that was way too scary for a thirteen-year-old face that still had baby fat.

"Jo and I were just wondering how Cas was last night," Sam said, a mite too quickly, and Dean glared at him suspiciously over his bottle.

"Yeah, Dean-o," Jo added. "How'd your date go?"

Dean choked on his drink in surprise, and he was pretty sure he could feel his face heat up in spite of himself. He should've known right then that the world was over, but he didn't. Not right away. "It wasn't a date!" he managed after coughing for like a minute straight, but Sam's grin was turning into a chuckle and Jo looked like she was about to have a damn field day.

"Oooooh, look, he's blushing! I bet that means it went good, don'tcha think, Sam?" And Sam, the traitorous bastard, was laughing it up, whereas Dean could feel nothing but panic creeping up his throat and throttling all further brain function. "Did you hold hands? Did you _kiiiiiss?_" Jo drew out the word like a friggin' third-grader or something, and continued in a sing-song, "_Dean and Cas sittin' in a tree, K- I – S –"_

"It was not a friggin _date_, Jo, what do you think I am, some kind of faggot?" Dean snapped, and he didn't mean to, he really didn't, but he did.

The bar went silent. Jo's smirk ran off her face like water, and Sam, laughter cut off mid-breath, was staring like he didn't know his own brother. The panic closed tighter around Dean, and he looked to Ellen desperately for help, but she was staring at Dean with the most disappointed look her had ever seen on her face (possibly excluding the time she found out he had left Sam home alone with a drunk John just because Sammy was being annoying and Dean wanted to get out of the house). Abruptly, Ellen stood, marched over to Dean, and smacked him upside the back of his head. It stung like a bitch, but it was nothing next to the tone of her voice when she spoke next.

"Dean Winchester, I do not give a rat's ass what kind of language you hear your father use, but I know for damn sure that Bobby and I raised you better than that."

Dean swallowed, shame swooping in to drown out the panic. Jo and Sam were still staring, and Dean was starting to feel like he just murdered someone's puppy or something. "Yes, ma'am," he said quietly, eyes falling to the floor.

"Get in back and wash some dishes, Ash got soot all over 'em before. Make yourself useful."

Dean nodded and, without a word to the others, went to do just that. He could hear Sam and Jo resume conversation behind him, but they spoke in serious whispers now, and he knew it was about him. Fuck. Just fuck everything.

Standing alone in the kitchen, up to his elbows in soapy water, Dean had nothing better to do but think. About what Ellen had said, about what he had said. About what Jo had said.

Because it wasn't that Dean hated the idea of Cas being something other than a friend; that wasn't what had freaked him out so bad. Dean wasn't stupid. He'd known for a while now that the way he felt about Cas wasn't friggin normal, wasn't _friendly_. It didn't take a Sammy-level intellect to figure out that occasionally having the urge to wrap an arm around Cas or, worse, to just lean over and kiss him wasn't exactly covered in the best friends territory. Hell, if Dean was being honest with himself (something he generally tried to avoid at all costs), he knew that it wasn't even like Cas was the first guy he thought was hot. He was just the first one that mattered.

So no. That wasn't what bothered him. What bothered him – what fucking terrified him, actually – was that other people might _know_. Might know he liked guys and girls (a part of his brain told him he was bi; the rest of it screamed that labeling himself would make it more real). Might know he liked Cas. It was one thing for Jo and even Sam to joke about it, but what if they weren't it? What happened if kids at school found out? The guys on the team? His father? Jesus fuck, what if John found out?

Dean knew exactly what John Winchester thought of guys who were…with other guys; Ellen wasn't wrong about where he'd picked up the word he'd dropped just now. Gay dudes were fags, they were sissies, they were – and it wasn't like Dean didn't know better, Ellen was right about that, too. But he'd panicked and it all came back to his dad, who, when Dean was in the eighth grade, had said he thought that Castiel kid was probably going to turn out to be a faggot, and Dean had told him not to talk about Cas like that, and John had turned steady, sober eyes on his son and asked if Dean was some kind of faggot, too. No, sir.

If Ellen's intention in making Dean wash dishes was to give him time to clear his head, it didn't work. Two hours later, the Roadhouse dishes were all sparkling clean, not a trace of soot or ash or exploded maybe-computer anywhere on them, but Dean's brain was a worse mess than before. If Ellen's intention was to punish him by letting him stew in his own juices and make him realize what an utter fucking horrible cowardly idiot asshole he was, well, success on that front, then.

Sam didn't talk to him again the whole way home, whether because he was pissed or because he could sense his older brother's bad mood, Dean didn't know or care. It was only way later, after Dad had gone upstairs and passed out, that Sam spoke again. He sat himself down at the kitchen table, next to where Dean was re-reading a Vonnegut book. Well, looking at the book. He hadn't turned a page for at least ten minutes and he couldn't even remember which one it was; he was too busy brooding.

"Dean, earlier today…"

Dean looked up with a sigh. "What, Sam?"

"What the hell was that about?" It would be easier, Dean thought, if Sam sounded angry or, hell, even disappointed. Instead, his stupid little brother had his stupid talk-about-feelings look on his stupid face on and sounded like he was seriously worried or something. Dean groaned. This conversation was gonna be a bitch, he could tell already.

"I'm sorry, okay? I said something awful and stupid, can we please move on?"

"Dean."

"Sam," Dean growled.

"You don't usually just lash out at Jo like that." Aaaaand here it comes, Dean thought. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sammy, I just – she shouldn't have said that about me and Cas." Not like that was a legitimate excuse but maybe it would get Sammy off his case.

"She was just joking…" Okay, yeah, apparently not. Dammit.

"I know, okay, just drop it." He didn't mean to snap, but it seemed to shut Sam up for the moment. He was just starting to feel bad about it when Sam ruined it all by speaking up again, quieter and gentler than before, like Dean was a scared wild animal or some shit.

"Dean, are you and Cas – ? I mean, I wouldn't care if you were, I just wondered –"

"What, _no_," Dean said, a little too quickly, finding himself sputtering over the idea for the second time that day. Which really, really, _really_ was not fair. "Jesus, no," he continued in (what he hoped was) a more normal tone. "We're friends, he's my best friend, he doesn't think about me like that."

Sam's eyes bugged out a little, and Dean winced, realizing too late what he'd said. Great. Just friggin peachy.

"But you think of Cas like that?" Sam talked like he was walking on thin ice, which Dean had to admit, the kid kinda was.

"Sam, we are so not talking about this." Especially not when Dean had to deal with it constantly on his own time. His great big stupid unrequited crush on his best friend took enough energy to repress on its own, thank you very much, and the last thing he needed was Sammy poking at the fragile wall of denial he'd built up. Damn thing had already take quite the beating today.

"Dean, come on –"

"Sam!"

"Fine!" Sam pulled a bitchface – Dean had thought the kid was growing out of the habit, but apparently not – and sighed. "Fine, just – like I said, I don't care, I just want you to be happy, okay?"

"Oh, please, no chick flick moments, come on," Dean groaned, standing up. Time for the tried-and-true stand-by of getting out of emotional conversations with Sam: run away. Sam even seemed like he was gonna let Dean go, but no, course not, that'd be too easy.

"Dean, wait –"

"For god's sake, Sam, _what_?" Dean turned on the spot, leveling an exasperated glare at his little brother.

"For the record," Sam said with a shrug, "I'm pretty sure Cas does think of you, ya know. Like that."

And Dean so did not need to know that. That was it, his life was actually over. Things would've been so much easier if Jo had never said anything.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: IMPORTANT PLEASE READ. So you may have noticed that I upped the rating of the whole story when I added this chapter. Fact is, I never meant for it to get as intense as it does in the second half of this chapter. Warnings for serious drug abuse, and trigger warnings for depression and allusions to suicidal ideation. It's not a huge part of the chapter, but it made me very sad to write so I wanted to warn folks in case you like to stay away from that kinda thing. Uh, anyway, here's the update thanks for reading I love you all I own nothing etc etc._

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"Dad's stopped drinking again," Dean said, determinedly not looking at Cas. They were sitting on the dock at the lake, faces turned up towards the sun, elbows bumping occasionally, listening to the sound of Sam and Jo splashing and racing a few feet away. The sky was clear, the air was warm, and Cas was two inches away from Dean and not wearing a shirt, so it was basically the perfect day. Except, of course, for the hideous pit of anxiety eating up Dean's insides.

It had been growing there for the past week and a half, ever since stupid Jo and her stupid jokes and stupid Sam and his stupid sympathy. It was like every thought Dean ever pretended he _absolutely did not have_ about Cas was dragged to the surface now whenever they hung out. Like how, if they were walking through the park at night and Cas was smoking, Dean would go to tell him off and then they'd walk under a lamp post and he'd get distracted by the shape of Cas' mouth when he exhaled a cloud of smoke and how it was really kinda sexy in this lighting and that was just _not okay_.

Luckily, he had still managed to avoid saying any of this shit out loud, but that also meant that he'd gotten quiet and awkward and restless around Cas in a way he had never been before. Of course Cas noticed (duh, he'd known Dean for fucking ever), and it clearly worried him. He'd tried everything to get Dean out of his funk: sneaking out more often, hanging out at the Roadhouse almost every day, smoking less, smiling more, just being Cas and being there until Dean was miserable with blue eyes and the sulky teenage angst of unrequited – Dean Winchester did not say _love_ – adoration.

So Cas, being the determined little shit he was, had proposed a day out. Just a day to get the hell out dodge and relax away from everything. So Dean had gotten the day off from Bobby, Cas had wheedled an alibi from a reluctant Ellen, and they had packed the kids into the back seat along with some sunscreen and a picnic lunch that consisted mostly of junk food and soda and drove out to the lake. (Although Jo had complained he couldn't call her and Sam "the kids" anymore since they were technically high schoolers now.) Even the weather – clear and bright and hot as hell – seemed to insist that this was a great idea. Why Dean had to ruin it by bringing up the latest in the saga of his deadbeat Dad's futile attempts at sobriety, he had no idea.

"Considering this has been generally hoped for by pretty much everyone for the last decade or so, you don't sound altogether thrilled about it," Cas remarked, turning to face Dean (so not okay, by the way, because personal space issues and Dean's heart rate didn't mix well right now).

"Well, yeah, it's just – " Dean sighed in frustration, because really, Cas should understand why John's sudden decision to go dry (again) was just making Dean more anxious than ever. "Maybe I'm just tired of him getting my hopes up, you know? Not even me, because I don't expect jack from the bastard anymore, but Sammy – Sammy thinks he's serious about it, Cas."

"Maybe this time he is," Cas said simply, like that's all there was to it, just an easy matter of faith.

"And what makes this different from the other three times, no, four times he's said he was done? How long will he make it this time? To Mom's birthday? Or all the way to November?" Dean couldn't help but be more than a little bitter and jaded about this. "I'm just tired of it, man. I'm tired of getting Dad back for a few months and starting to feel like a damn family again just to come home one night and find him passed out at the kitchen table and Sammy upstairs crying because the old man threw a bottle at him."

"It could be different this time, you know," Cas replied softly, leaning over so that his bare shoulder rested against Dean's, trying to lend comfort in closeness. "He could really do it." He paused for a long moment, giving Dean time to try not to mull over this possibility, but doing it anyway. What Cas said next threw Dean completely off. "Would you stay gone if he did?"

"Huh?" Dean turned and frowned at the wide blue eyes immediately in front of him (_geez, Cas, get out of my face)_. "You lost me there, dude."

"Next year, after we graduate. If John was sober, and you didn't have to worry about Sam all the time, would you be willing to stay gone longer? Away from home?"

"Why, you wanna keep me all to yourself?" Dean joked, because he had to laugh it off, because the possibility that John would man up and be a real parent and Dean could do something for himself for once was just too – Dean couldn't let himself have dreams like that. He had to watch out for Sammy.

Cas, to Dean's surprise, hummed an agreement. "Yes, that's the general idea."

Jo, being the good friend she was, had chosen exactly two moments before this to pull herself out of the water and flop onto the dock, sunning herself. When she overheard Cas, she grinned over at them and shouted, "Aw, how cute! Now, kiss!"

Dean could hear himself spluttering again and he was pretty sure he was blushing which was again just _not okay_, but Cas calmly got to his feet and walked over to Jo's side of the dock.

"Knock, knock," he said seriously. Jo grinned insolently up at Cas, even though he was coming as close to looming as someone that scrawny could.

"Who's there?"

"John."

"John who?"

"John the Baptist." And before anyone could fully get a handle on whether Cas was making some weird religious joke, he had scooped Jo up off the dock (he was pretty strong for a little nerdy dude) and tossed her in the lake.

She emerged two seconds later, spluttering and laughing and swearing so badly that Sam shouted in a damn good impression of Ellen, "Joanna Beth Harvelle!" and they all cracked up. Shrieking her mock rage, Jo reached back up onto the dock to grab Cas' ankle and pull him in. Dean was still laughing his ass off at the look of complete surprise on Cas' face when he found himself being yanked backwards into the water by Sammy. Unexpectedly soaked, spitting out fishy water, and still laughing fit to split a rib, Dean grinned at Cas treading water a few feet away, and Cas smiled back. In spite of himself, Dean felt the knot in his stomach loosening just a bit, and was forced to admit that yeah, today was pretty perfect.

The evening that followed was less perfect. Well, it wasn't bad, but it was…intense. The ride back from the lake was long and quiet, everyone tired out from sun and laughter. Sam even fell asleep in the back, drooling on Jo's shoulder (Cas snapped a picture with the Polaroid camera Sam had gotten from Bobby and now carried everywhere). By the time Jo and Cas had been dropped off at the Roadhouse, Dean was ready to just get home and crash into bed for the night.

No such luck. Every time John decided he was gonna go sober, Dean spent at least one night with his dad purging the house of alcohol. It was good, to see it all go every time, but it was also stressful as all hell because it meant Dean found out exactly how much of the shit John had stashed around the house. Like, who the fuck hid booze inside the volcano his son had built for the third grade science fair? (Answer: John Winchester, apparently).

The evening was filled with a lot of tense, "Really, Dad?"s and "I know, Dean, I know,"s, but they didn't fight. John said he was sorry a lot, and Dean shrugged it off just as often, but Sam got really into the whole cleaning thing. Dad even asked how the day at the beach was, and if they were still hanging out with Cas or if the kid's crazy uncle had put an end to that; he even seemed genuinely happy that Dean hadn't let Michael keep him and Cas apart entirely, going as far as to say that he was glad Dean had a friend he could rely on. He also asked if Sam was gonna ever ask out Jo, much to Sam's shock and stuttering horror that he and Jo were only _friends_.

So yeah, it wasn't a bad night, but by the time Dean finally collapsed into bed at eleven, he was friggin exhausted, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Because he lived in a cruel world, he was woken less than an hour later by the ring of the phone, ominously loud and jarring in the night silence. Dean woke with such a violent start that he fell out of bed, thumping as loudly as the next ring of the phone.

"_Dean_," came John's voice from down the hall, and for one terrifying second Dean forgot that Dad was sober tonight, that there was no booze, that even if John was pissed it was probably gonna be just fine. The phone rang again.

Dean stumbled out of his room and downstairs, into the kitchen, followed closely by a clearly irritated John and a sleepy, worried-looking Sam. He managed to fumble the phone off the hook just as it started to ring for the fourth time.

"Hello?" Even though he'd only been asleep for an hour, his voice was still raspy and dry from disuse.

"_Dean."_ Cas. What the hell? _"Dean, the world is…that house is loud. I do not like it there."_

There was something horribly wrong with the way Cas was talking, thick and vague and far away. Oh no. No no no no no, _fuck_.

"Cas what's wrong? Where are you?" John frowned, and Sam stopped rubbing the sleep from his face, looking up wide-eyed at Dean.

"_I just want to see the stars, but I've lost my way. Will you come find me, Dean? Please?"_

"Yeah, Cas, I'll find you," Dean said, barely managing it around the panic in his throat. What the fuck had Cas taken? "Just tell me where you are, I'm leaving now."

"_I'm waiting for you where I always wait for you, but you're not here. This is a waiting place, Dean, it isn't real. You have to come and make it real."_

"Okay, Cas, just stay where you are, okay? I'll be there in five minutes."

"_I'll just…wait here then."_

Dean hung up the phone and turned wildly toward the counter, scrabbling for his keys. _Shit shit shit shit fuck come on_.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" John demanded, stepping between his son and the door.

"Dad, come on, move. Cas is…I gotta go get Cas, something's wrong. I – " Dean cut off, looking between his father and his little brother. Sam's eyes were scared and knowing, but John – "He's not feeling well." Sammy would know what it meant, and Dad, well, he didn't need to know about Cas' problems.

"Where the hell is he at this time of night?"

"He's at the corner gas station, it's only a couple blocks from his house." At least, that's where Dean assumed he was; Cas had said he was waiting where he always waited, but he was clearly at a payphone, and that was the one closest to the place Dean always picked him up when they snuck out. He couldn't imagine how Cas had gotten there or what had happened or if his uncle knew he was gone. "Please, Dad, I gotta go pick him up."

John stood there, just staring at Dean, for a good twenty seconds before sighing and stepping aside. "You gonna put some pants on before you go, at least?"

Two minutes later, Dean was out the door, wearing a tee shirt and jeans instead of just his boxers now, firing up the Impala and backing out of the driveway with a screech loud enough that he probably woke all the neighbors. He stayed at pretty much the same level of blind panic, desperately hoping he wouldn't get pulled over as he sped around peaceful residential corners at twice the speed limit. But luck was with him for that at least, and he rolled into the gas station without blipping anyone's radar.

Cas was nowhere to be seen.

The station was closed, the brightly lit parking lot and gas pumps depressingly empty. There was no one standing next to the payphone.

"Fuck," Dean swore, looking wildly around. "Come on, Cas, where are you?"

"Dean?" came a hesitant voice from somewhere in the shadows. Dean shoved open his door and practically leapt out of the car, tripping and almost falling in his haste.

"Cas? That you?"

"Dean, you found me." Cas stepped into the light and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. Dude looked like shit – pale and scared and eyes glazed and bloodshot and looking like they were gonna pop out of his face – but he seemed to be all in one piece. Dean went forward and wrapped an arm around his friend, still in his swim trunks from earlier today. Cas was shaking.

"Yeah, 'course I did, Cas." Cas sighed heavily in apparent relief, leaning into Dean's grip and wrapping his arms around Dean's waist in the world's most awkward hug. "Let's get you to the car, man, okay? Then we can get you home or something."

"_No_," Cas said, with surprising vehemence, tearing himself from Dean's side and backing away. "No, you can't make me go back, I don't want to go back, Dean, _please_."

"Okay, man, okay." What the hell had Michael done now? "We'll go to the park or something, alright?"

"Yes." Cas sighed again, visibly calming, and came back over to lay his head on Dean's shoulder. "Yes, let's go to the park. The stars are there. We can breathe there."

The ride over to the park was tense, for Dean, at least. He was worried. He had no idea what Cas had taken (though Dean thought it was probably some cocktail of Lilith's prescriptions), or what had induced him to take it, or how the hell he had ended up at the gas station. None of this seemed to bother Cas, on the other hand, who seemed completely relaxed. Or blissed out. Or incredibly friggin stoned. In any case, he had scooted across the front seat of the Impala so that he could keep his head on Dean's shoulder. He hummed occasionally, something Dean thought was probably Metallica, but he didn't say anything.

When they got to the park, Cas took Dean's hand and dragged him wordlessly toward the large, empty field where they spent a lot of time just hanging out and stargazing and talking out their shit. Cas immediately flopped to the ground, face turned up toward the stars. When Dean didn't join him right away, Cas tugged on his friend's pant leg until Dean lay down just next to him. After a few minutes, Dean spoke softly.

"Cas, what the hell happened tonight?"

Cas just shrugged. "Michael is very loud. I don't like conflict. I don't want to fight anymore."

"What were you fighting about? College again?"

This time Cas was silent for a long time, tracing his finger over invisible patterns through the air above their heads. It started to make Dean nervous, so he snatched Cas' hand out of the air, holding it tightly in his own. Cas seemed surprised, a bit, but he squeezed Dean's hand in return, so Dean guessed it was okay. When he did speak, Dean wasn't sure if Cas was answering his question or just talking.

"I'm…not good, Dean. Michael knows this. I think everybody does. I'm not good. I'm cursed, I think. That's why they all leave. My father, Gabriel, Anna. My mother, she's left too, in her mind. They're all better off without me.

"Sometimes, I want to leave. I want to go, I want to stay gone. It'd be better."

Dean felt like his stomach had dropped out of his body, replaced by a terrible, heavy, cold feeling. He gripped Cas' hand so tight he thought his knuckles were turning white and he was probably cutting off Cas' circulation but he didn't care, because he needed to hang onto something of Cas, to keep him there somehow. His throat felt tight, but he spoke through it, trying to make Cas understand.

"No, it wouldn't. I'd rather have you, Cas, cursed or not." Cas turned to stare at him, drugged eyes widening in appreciative surprise that made Dean's chest ache so bad that he tried to laugh it off. "Besides, man, look at me. Do I seem like good luck to you?"

Cas didn't answer, just gave Dean that look he had – the one that said, don't be stupid, Dean Winchester, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me – the one Dean hated because it always made him scared that Cas thought too much of him, that he was inevitably gonna let him down. Then Cas' face fell back into the blank, glazed look he had when particularly stoned that Dean hated even more.

"I'm tired, Dean," Cas said after a while, but even through the pill-induced haze his tone was more angry than tired. "I'm tired of hiding and lying. I'm tired of wondering and being too afraid to ask, I'm tired of having to ask. I am tired of keeping quiet and of shutting down and I am tired of being afraid, always afraid." He trailed off and turned away to look up the sky. Dean didn't know what to say to the sudden rant, but Cas wasn't done. "Do you think I'm an abomination, Dean? That I'm wrong?"

"What? Cas, no," Dean exclaimed, taken aback. "No."

"Michael does." Cas turned to look at him again, and underneath the vacant expression Dean hated so much was something new, something that made Dean's breath catch in his throat. "Maybe you would, too, if you knew."

"Never, Cas." He paused, frowning, asking before he was sure he wanted to know. "Knew what?"

"What I want." And Cas was doing that thing, the thing Jo always made fun of them for, and Sam and everyone, the personal space thing. Cas let go of his hand, maneuvering himself onto his side so that he loomed over Dean just a bit, his face only inches from Dean's. Dean swallowed.

"What do you want, Cas?"

"This." And Cas was suddenly so up in Dean's personal space that it wasn't personal space anymore and Cas was pressing his lips to Dean's and Dean's heart was thundering in his chest and everything inside of him was screaming, _this, yes, this_.

But in spite of that, in spite of everything he'd been thinking and feeling for fucking ages now, Dean found himself putting a hand on Cas' shoulder and – _pulling him closer I want to pull him closer_ – gently pushing him away. Cas let himself be pushed, his blue eyes still open, wide and glazed and with the most horribly hollow expression Dean had ever seen.

"You do not want this." It wasn't a question, it was a statement so dully accepting that Dean was horrified to realize that Cas hadn't been expecting anything less. Dean shook his head vigorously, clearing his throat and trying to find his voice, which he seemed to have swallowed in the moment Cas kissed him.

"No," he managed at last, after what felt like forever. "I want – just not like this, Cas." _Not when you're stoned, and I can't tell if it's the drugs or if it's you. I need to know it's you, it's really you, that you really want me_.

Cas sat up fully, not meeting Dean's eyes. "I think I would like to go home now."

Dean scrambled to his feet, his brain still spinning. _No, stay, please stay, I didn't mean it._ "Yeah, okay. Of course. It's late, come on, we'll get you home." He held out a hand to help Cas up. Cas ignored it, standing up on his own and starting back toward the car without even glancing at Dean. _Shit_.

The ride home was more silent than the ride there. Cas sat on the far side of the seat now, curled into the corner against the door, resting his arms on the window frame and sticking his face half out of the car, letting the wind whip his dark hair into an even worse mess than it normally was. He didn't hum Metallica. Dean opened his mouth to say something half a dozen times, but each time, nothing came out. He felt like he had broken something and didn't know how to fix it. He didn't know how to make Cas understand.

Dean dropped Cas off directly in front of his house tonight, because he didn't trust him to get home by himself on whatever it was he had taken, though he seemed to have mostly sobered up now. As soon as they were stopped, Cas opened the door, almost falling out because of how he'd been pressed up against it.

"Cas – " Dean started, but Cas cut him off.

"Thank you for coming to pick me up tonight. I'm grateful."

"Cas, please, just – promise me you're gonna be okay?" When Cas didn't say anything, Dean continued, a feeling of desperation growing in his chest. "Hey, why don't you come by the Roadhouse tomorrow, okay? I'll meet you there around lunchtime or something, and we'll go out to the lake and hang out and – and talk. Okay?"

Cas still wouldn't look at him. "Good night, Dean."

"Cas!" But Cas just closed the door behind himself and walked away, slipping around back to climb the trellis that led to his window without another word.

_Fuck._ Dean lay his forehead against his steering wheel, trying to will back the stinging feeling behind his eyes. How the hell was he going to fix this?


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, folks, they make my day! No particular warnings for this chapter, and (per usual) I have no claims to ownership of the boys or any of the lovely supporting cast._

Dean hadn't seen or even heard from Cas in _two fucking weeks_. He knew the bastard had been by the Roadhouse – as if the guilty looks on Jo's and Sam's faces weren't enough, the sound of the back door slamming as soon as Dean stepped into the place was a dead friggin giveaway. Dean had taken to haunting the Roadhouse during breaks and after work, to calling Ellen from the garage only to have her snap for the twentieth time that there was no message, boy, don't you think she'd have told you? She hates it when you kids fight. Dean didn't know how to explain that they weren't fighting, not as far as he could tell, but Cas had friggin _kissed_ him and then started friggin _ignoring_ him, so he swallowed and thanked Ellen and hung up and went back to work, Bobby shaking his head at him.

Come_ the fuck on, Cas_, he thought in irritation as he walked into the Roadhouse fifteen days after that night in the park, only to see it was empty except for Ellen and a few early evening dinner patrons. Ellen caught his eyes as he walked through the door and sighed.

"Dean, honey, I woulda called Bobby if I had a message for you."

"I know, Ellen, I know, I'm just," he made an aggravated noise instead of using words to finish his sentence as he collapsed onto a bar stool at the counter. He waited for her to come back over from serving beer to Henrikson (Dean gave an awkward wave) and his friend Jody Mills, the local sheriff. (In Dean's opinion as a professional hooligan, the sheriff and the high school principal should just not be allowed to be friends. It just was not okay.) When Ellen stood in front of him, arms crossed and an expression on her face that was trying to be annoyed but betrayed her underlying sympathy for Dean's distress, he spoke again.

"I'm sick of his shit by now, ya know?"

"Watch your mouth, kid," but it was said without conviction.

"How am I supposed to – to say I'm sorry if he won't even _talk_ to me? It's stupid," Dean groused, "and it's starting to actually piss me off. I mean, there's avoiding me and there's friggin _running away_ just because I'm here, too."

"Look, I understand you're frustrated, Dean, but I don't know what you expect me to do. Kids fight. You and Castiel are pretty much inseparable most of the time, it won't kill you to spend a few weeks apart." She sighed again at the look on Dean's face. "What the hell did you two fight about anyway?" She frowned, hesitating, then leaned over a bit, speaking softly so the other patrons wouldn't hear. "Was it whatever nonsense he's gotten into lately – what is it now, pills, like his mom?"

Dean felt his eyes widen in surprise. "What – how – ?"

Ellen shook her head sadly. "Dean, Bobby and me practically raised you boys, as best we could. Of course I know. Kid tried to light a damn cigarette in my bar the other night, had to remind him that he is underage and he'd best not let me see him with one of those things again until he was eighteen."

"Well, I hope he listens to you more than he does to me, then," Dean snorted. He shoulda figured Ellen knew. She knew everything, almost as much as Missouri. (And Missouri was just scary in how much she knew. Dean was almost willing to believe her age-old claim that she was psychic.) "Anyway, no, that's not what we fought about. It's – we're not even fighting really, he just – I said something, he misunderstood, and now he won't talk to me so I can't even explain that I – " Dean cut off, trying to work around what had actually happened. "That I didn't mean it," he finished.

Ellen just looked at him for a long time before sighing and turning away, mumbling something about, "damn teenagers," in the same fond tone as Bobby's "idjits," and picked up the phone. Dean wondered vaguely if he had managed to make Sam's infamous puppy-dog face.

"Hey, Michael, this is Ellen Harvelle. Is Castiel home?...Mhmm. Yeah, he just left a book here yesterday, Ash just found it. Thanks...Hey, Castiel...Yes, I know damn well you didn't leave a book here. Just come over, will you? I wanna talk to you...Yes, it's about Dean. This is getting ridiculous...No, he's not. I'm just sick of having to step on eggshells because you two had a lover's spat or something." Dean flinched at her choice of words, and again when Ellen frowned at him. "Okay, hon. I'll see you soon." Ellen hung up the phone and turned to Dean, hands on her hips.

"Alright, listen up. First, you are not to solve your crisis in my establishment, because if he hits you for whatever you said, I do not want to lose customers over it. Second, if he calls the cops on you for kidnapping, I am not bailing you out, and you're on your own explaining this shit to Mills, understood?" Dean nodded, and he could feel a nervous smile growing on his face.

"Yes, ma'am." And then, "Thanks, Ellen."

She shook her head at him. "Just figure this out, okay, kid? This stupid world, you two need each other." Because Ellen was being nice, Dean elected _not_ to roll his eyes at the cheesiness of that particular remark (or to acknowledge the truth of it). "He'll be here in twenty minutes or so. You just hang tight, I'll get you a sandwich or something while you wait."

"You're the best, Ellen."

"Damn right I am."

The sandwich was, of course, delicious, but it got heavy and uncomfortable in Dean's stomach the moment Cas walked in twenty minutes later. The boy froze in the doorway when his eyes found Dean's face, and the expression of mingled horror and embarrassment was enough to make Dean feel sick with guilt. Cas only spared a split second to glare at Ellen for tricking him before he was stalking out the door again. Dean practically tripped over himself chasing after Cas, because no, he was not getting out of this that easy.

Not that anything about this whole shitshow was easy.

"Cas, come on, man, wait up!" Dean called as he ran into the parking lot only a few feet behind Cas. Cas stopped in his tracks, speaking without turning to face Dean.

"Dean, please leave me alone." His voice was tense, almost angry, and it stopped Dean, too. "I thought I'd made it clear I don't particularly want your company right now."

"Yeah, well, you haven't 'particularly wanted my company' for more than two weeks, asshole, and you can't be fucked to give me a damn explanation for it?" Dean's response was angrier than he intended it to be, but he was too busy trying to pretend that Cas' words didn't hurt like hell to care.

Cas turned on him, his expression unreadable. "I did not realize this required explanation."

"Are you _shitting_ me?" Dean demanded, almost laughing with disbelief. "No, dude, it does require explanation and we are talking about this, whatever it is, because I – " and he had wanted to stay mad, but his voice accidentally broke over the words and his sheer desperation for the company of his friend showed through. "I miss you, man, okay? I thought – the hell, everything was fine, we had _plans_ and then you just start ignoring me and seriously, Cas, _what the fuck_ – "

"We are _not _talking about this here," Cas interrupted sharply, looking around the parking lot. He grabbed Dean's wrist and started dragging him toward the Impala. "If you insist on having this discussion, we are doing it on neutral territory."

"Neutral territory?" Dean asked incredulously as Cas got into the passenger seat like he belonged there (he did, something inside Dean said).

Cas looked at him like he was an idiot. "The park. Now. Or we are not having this conversation at all."

"Fine," Dean snapped, getting in and slamming the door. "Fine."

The ride was surreal. Both of them sat in stony silence, each pissed at the other and neither wanting to be the one to speak first. Dean was getting kind of tired of this silent car ride bullshit, to be honest.

"Are you seriously not going to say anything until we get there?" he asked after, sick of it after the first five minutes.

"Yes." Cas still wasn't looking at him (that was the worst, that was always the worst).

"Fine," Dean growled out (again) and turned on the radio. Zeppelin. Good.

The park was still relatively full when they got there, not like it was when they usually came, late at night and long past closing time. Dean followed an aggressively taciturn Cas along the pathways until they were in a secluded corner of their field, tucked away in a small huddle of trees, far from the kids on the playground and jogging couples and other prying eyes and ears. Only after Cas had checked the immediate vicinity for other people about twenty times did he finally round on Dean, arms crossed defensively over his chest, eyes defiantly meeting Dean's, for once not all up in Dean's personal space.

"What? What is so hard for you to understand about _I don't want to be around you right now_?"

The vehemence with which he said that hit Dean like a punch to the gut, but he tried to ignore it and answer in a tone as pissed as Cas'. Didn't work. He came out sounding more desperate than angry. "That's not the part I'm having a hard time understanding, Cas. I got that. What I want to know is _why_ you're doing this."

"Seriously?" Cas' eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "Because I should think it was obvious. Or did you forget the part where I assaulted your face with mine while stoned out of my fucking mind?"

Oh. Well, that was direct. But seriously? "Yeah, no, I remember that bit," Dean said, and his voice definitely did not falter just then, no it did not.

"Great. Frankly, considering how that didn't go over all that well, I'm surprised you even want to see me." Cas' eyes dropped to the ground, defiance going out of him, so he didn't see Dean frowning and shaking his head.

"Cas, it's not – " How could he phrase this? Dean felt his stomach sink as he realized how much Cas clearly regretted…what had happened. Okay. So it had just been the drugs. Okay. Deep breath. "It's not your fault, I know that, like you said, you were stoned out of your mind." Deep breath again. "What did you even take, anyway?"

Change of subject. Good. If he could just get Cas past this, then maybe they could go back to being friends again. That would be good enough for Dean. It would.

Cas just rolled his eyes. "Don't make excuses for me, Dean. It was…some stuff of Lilith's, you don't need to know, it doesn't matter. I knew exactly what I was doing."

Cas wouldn't look at him. Dean's breath had stopped in his chest and Cas wouldn't look at him. "You did?"

"Yes. I did." Only now did Cas dare to meet Dean's eyes again. There was that hollow expression again, more raw and painful than before, when it had been muffled by drugs and exhaustion. A note of accusation crept into his voice. "You asked me what I wanted, Dean, and I told you. And you pushed me away."

"No," Dean managed to say. Cas' eyes widened a bit as Dean stepped toward him. His heart was pounding and something like hope was bubbling up inside him and he was struggling for words, but wasn't this the whole point of getting Ellen to force Cas to talk to him? So he could tell Cas what he really meant? So he could explain? "No, I just thought – you weren't, you weren't really there and I thought – I thought you'd be mad at me."

"I _am_ mad at you Dean," Cas said in exasperation, as if Dean didn't friggin _get_ that.

"No, I know, but I thought – so if I kissed you, right now, that'd be okay?" Okay, that wasn't how he intended to phrase it, but Dean Winchester had never been good at words.

Cas' face just went completely blank, his eyes (those _eyes_) widening in uncomprehending disbelief. "What?"

Feeling incredibly reckless, Dean took a step closer. Cas didn't move away. "I said," step, "if I kissed you," step, "right now," step, and he was right in front of Cas, so close their fingers brushed, so close they seemed to breathe the same air, "would that be okay?" And Dean leaned in so that his nose bumped against Cas' and stopped, giving Cas the option to back out because this was stupid this was terrifying this was perfect and every single fiber of Dean's being hoped against everything that in spite of being sober in spite of being pissed in spite of _everything_ that Cas would –

Cas did.

He closed that last tiny space of distance, slowly, hesitantly – like before – but then Dean responded, pushed closer, opened his mouth under Cas', and it was nothing like before.

Next thing Dean knew, his back was up against one of the trees, his hands were on Cas' hips, fingers hooking into belt loops, tugging him closer, and Cas had a hand carded through the hair on the back of Dean's head. And clearly he shoulda said something to Cas a _long_ time ago because how the hell could he ever have thought this could be a bad idea?

An hour later, they were back at the Roadhouse, Dean grinning from ear to ear and begging Ellen for food in the middle of the dinner rush (which she scolded him for and then shouted in the back for a couple of cheeseburgers for her boys). When she had a spare moment between tables, she paused to look over at Dean and Cas where they sat in a back corner, their chairs scooted up next to each other. It was stupid and probably obvious, but it seemed like Cas and him basically permanently shared personal space now, elbows bumping as they ate, knees pressed together under the table. It was good. Dean was smiling, Cas was laughing in that mild way he had, and Ellen was raising her eyebrows at them.

"I take it you boys worked things out?" she said, maybe a bit too casually.

Dean looked at Cas, whose eyes crinkled in that way that meant he was smiling, and turned back to Ellen with a broad grin. "Yeah, we're good."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait, folks, especially after all the nice reviews y'all left me. I am superflattered and have oodles of warm and fuzzy feelings and I hope you don't revoke them all by the time this is over. Which may be relatively soon? I think maybe two-three more chapters after this, so. Uh. But yes! Here it is! And I actually have the first half of the next chapter already written so it probably (?) won't take as long to post. Per usual, I own nuffink, etc, etc.  
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Dean was pretty sure this was the best summer he had ever had, _ever_. Even now, fifteen years later, he looks back on those few weeks as one of the best times of his life. Sam was finally reaching that age where he wasn't an annoying snot-nosed kid that Dean had to baby and take care of constantly anymore. He was like a person, like an actual friend – even if he was a huge friggin nerd. Dad was sober and trying so hard – actually _trying_ – to be a father to his kids. He came home after work instead of going to bars or the liquor store. Hell, he even made dinner regularly. He talked to Sam about going into high school, and was shocked to learn that his youngest was already thinking of college. When asked about what his plans for after high school were, Dean hesitantly told him about his and Cas' cross-country trip. John just stared for a minute, then nodded and asked if Dean was gonna take the Impala and told him to take good care of her. And, of course, there was Cas.

Cas.

From an outsider's perspective, it didn't look like much had changed between them. They hadn't really talked about it, but there had been a sort of silent mutual decision to keep things under wraps for the time being. Or forever. Dean really didn't think about it that much. The reasons including, of course, Michael, John, Michael, kids at school and shit they just didn't want to deal with, Michael, uh hello it was friggin _Kansas_ there were probably still anti-sodomy laws on the books or some shit, and did he mention Michael?

So really the only difference anyone could see was that they were together pretty much constantly now. Dean had no idea what Cas was telling his uncle about where he went every day, and he didn't ask (though, judging by the long-suffering look on Ellen's face whenever they saw her, she was involved somehow). All he knew was, Cas was _there_. All the time.

On his break at work, Dean would meet Cas for lunch at the Roadhouse, and then pick him up there after he was done for the day (usually five minutes early these days; Bobby would roll his eyes and tell him to _get outta here boy, you're practically jumpin' outta yer skin to get wherever you're goin'_). They spent evenings hanging out at the Winchester's house, eating whatever John had made for dinner and hanging out with Sammy in the backyard afterward. They managed to get a little fire pit going back there, and Dean was pretty sure he ate his weight in s'mores about once a week. Dad did his best to welcome Cas (back) into the family, even if he did send the pair of them a suspicious look every once in a while, if Dean slipped up – leaned on Cas' shoulder a little too long, sat a little too close.

Fact was, sober or not, John Winchester was still a bit of a homophobic prick. So Dad didn't need to know that, when he wasn't home, the boys sat on the couch watching movies, Cas draped over Dean. Or that, underneath the dinner table, their legs were pressed together, Cas occasionally running his foot up Dean's calf while they both tried to keep a perfectly straight face. Or that, left unsupervised at the fire at night, Dean once licked melted chocolate from Cas' nose, sending Sam into hysterical laughter.

Which, by the way, was one of many recent indications that Sammy was possibly the best little brother ever (Dean couldn't help but think he had raised him right). Dean caught Sam looking at him and Cas a lot, especially in those moments when Dad wasn't around and they were a little freer with their affection. Sometimes he smirked a little too knowingly for Dean's comfort (the bitch) but he never said anything, for which Dean was grateful. As much as he excused their secrecy with Michael's potential wrath, he wasn't sure he even wanted someone like Sammy, who wouldn't care, to know about him and Cas just yet.

So they kept it quiet around other people. Even in the privacy of Dean's bedroom they didn't dare do much more than – well, Dean didn't like to call it cuddling, but that's basically what it was. There was too great a risk that Sammy or Dad would hear something they just weren't ready to hear. So when they wanted alone time, they snuck out to the park after close, just like they always had. Except not at all.

Because they hadn't always used the secluded corners for the hottest make-out sessions Dean had ever had in his life (okay, yeah, he was only seventeen, but _seriously_). They hadn't always held hands as they stumbled laughing down the darkened paths. They hadn't always spent nights in the backseat of the Impala, hidden behind steamed windows, all hot mouths and fumbling hands. They hadn't always been this way, but now they were.

And things were better between them than they had been in a long friggin time, not even counting the making out. Cas was almost entirely sober these days, a damn miracle as far as Dean was concerned. Yeah, there were still the cigarettes, and the occasional drinking, but Dean hadn't smelled pot on Cas' clothes in weeks, and there had been no sign of Lilith's prescriptions since that ill-fated night in the park when Cas had kissed him for the first time.

"This is what we fought about, you know," Cas said one night. "That night. When I took the pills. That's why." They were in the park as usual, in their field. Cas was sitting cross-legged on the ground with Dean's head in his lap, running fingers idly through his hair.

Dean frowned. "What is what you fought about?"

Cas gestured vaguely to Dean. "This. Well, not you, specifically. The whole gay thing."

"What?" Dean asked, alarmed. "I thought you said Michael didn't know?"

"He doesn't. Not really. But he suspects, obviously." Cas looked down at Dean, raising his eyebrows. "Let's be frank, Dean, even when I'm not trying to get into your pants, I don't exactly come off as straight. He was lecturing me rather pointedly about how homosexuals are an abomination against God. It was…incredibly upsetting. Particularly given that I was under the impression at the time that you didn't return my feelings and my abomination…ness was in vain."

"Well, it's not," Dean said awkwardly after a minute, struggling to find something to say that wasn't how much he really fucking hated Michael Milton. "And you're not an abomination. You're too pretty." He grinned, and Cas huffed a soft laugh. There was a pause, when the only noise was the crickets before Dean cleared his throat and asked, "So you're gay then?" (You'd think this woulda come up at some point before this, but it hadn't.)

Cas rolled his eyes. "No, I've just developed a sudden but purely academic interest in your dick."

"That's not what I meant, dumbass," Dean rolled his eyes right back. "I mean, 'cause I'm not, I just – ya know, I like girls too. I just wondered, I guess."

There was another long pause where Cas' fingers stilled in Dean's hair, and he wondered, terrified for a minute, if he had offended his friend somehow, if Cas was gonna stop talking to him again. But then, thoughtfully, "Yes, I suppose I am gay."

"Only dudes?"

"No, Dean." Dean looked up and found those blue eyes staring very intently into his own. "Only you."

Something about the combination of those words and the way Cas was looking at him practically knocked the breath out of Dean, and he couldn't think of anything good to say back. Dean Winchester had never exactly been the best with words. So instead, he reached up and put a hand on the back of Cas' neck, bringing his face towards him and rising up to meet him halfway. He tried to say in that kiss what he was still too scared to say aloud, that right now, _me too, Cas, only you._

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Dean supposed it was inevitable that someone found out about them eventually, and when they did, he supposed he should be glad it was only Jo. The shark grin on her face made it kind of hard to be glad about anything, though. Dean was a little scared for his life, actually.

They had all gone up to the lake one day, parents and all this time. Well, by parents and all he meant Ellen, Bobby, and Dad, which meant Dean and Cas had to be extra careful about the way they acted. They had gotten pretty lax around Sam and Jo, and Dean was pretty sure Sam knew anyway. Kid was stupid insightful, it was really annoying sometimes. Ellen wouldn't care, who the hell knew what Bobby thought of anything, but yeah, still wanting to keep John out of the loop here. So at one point, Dean and Cas went back up to the car to grab the lunch stuff (and maybe also fool around a bit in the back of the Impala when nobody could see them). And Cas had Dean crowded back against the car and was saying something that had Dean laughing as they kissed when suddenly someone spoke and they both froze in place.

"Okay, yeah, I don't even want to know whether it's sanitary for you two to be touching our sandwiches now," Jo said, irritation the only emotion betrayed in her tone. Cas couldn't seem to make himself turn around, panic growing in his wide blue eyes, his breath catching in his throat. Dean gulped and put a hand on Cas' shoulder to calm his down.

"Hey, Jo," he managed. "What are you doing here? I thought you were busy burying Sam alive."

She sighed and stepped around the boys to pick up one of the coolers full of food. "I _was_, but you assholes were taking too long and we're starving down there, and your _father_," she looked pointedly at Dean, "offered to come help you guys out, but I told him I could handle it. I said we'd be good. Are we good, Winchester?" Dean nodded mutely, and Jo turned to Cas. "Milton? We good?"

"We're good, Jo," Cas replied solemnly.

"Okay. Now, if you idiots could untangle yourselves and actually help with bringing down lunch, that'd be awesome." She grabbed a cooler from the ground near the boys' feet and started back, leaving Dean and Cas to untangle themselves and scramble for the food. Halfway back down the path to the lake, Jo turned to them with her shark grin and added, "Also, tell Sam he totally owes me five dollars."

So that was how Jo found out. And Sam apparently found out officially when Dean passed on Jo's message. His little brother just pursed his lips, pulling one of his disappointed bitchfaces, and said, "Seriously, Dean? I bet her you would tell me first. You suck."

"Actually – " Cas began, but Dean put a hand over his mouth to stop him from going any further. Sam's eyes got big with horror and he closed his book and practically ran out of the room, muttering something about "brain bleach."

So they could relax a bit around Sam and Jo, which made life kinda easier. (It also conveniently made for great material for threatening Sam – Dean just had to casually mention that he and Cas needed alone time or something and Sam would blanch and freak out about being scarred for life. It was hilarious.)

[this is a line break]

So that was how it went. It was good and it was quiet and Dean didn't think about it other than to think about how amazingly fucking _happy_ it made him. Cas, of course, couldn't do the same. Cas, apparently, thought about it.

Dean discovered this one night maybe two weeks before the end of summer vacation, when they were walking through the park, just holding hands, shoulders bumping. Cas was laughing mildly at some stupid, elaborate explanation Dean was giving for some pop culture reference he had made that Cas didn't get because he was a freaking alien or something. Suddenly, there was a slight rustle in the trees around the corner of the path. They fell silent and, without even looking at each other, practically leapt apart, Dean shoving his hands in his pockets, Cas suddenly three feet away.

An opossum scurried out from the trees and, after pausing briefly to stare petrified at the pair of humans, scurried away again. After another moment of nervous silence, Dean let out a shaky laugh, and Cas groaned. Once again alone, without risk of being caught, they gravitated back toward each other, Cas burying his face in Dean's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Dean's waist.

"I hate this. The sneaking." Cas' voice was muffled by the fact that he was speaking into Dean's shirt, but Dean heard his friend perfectly fine. He stiffened.

"Cas, we can't…"

"I know, Dean," Cas snorted, straightening. "I'm not saying that I want to leap out of the closet covered in rainbows. I'm saying that I hate sneaking around. School this year is going to be hell, you realize that?"

"School is always hell," Dean said with a shrug, his hand finding Cas' again. A drop of water hit his head, and he frowned up at the sky.

"You know what I mean," Cas replied with a roll of his eyes. Then he frowned up at the sky, too. Another drop. And another. "It will be better when we leave." Dean turned sharply back to Cas, who turned to him with a slight smile. "For our road trip. We can get out of Lawrence, go to New York or San Francisco…" He trailed off as the raindrops became a steady drizzle.

"Cas…"

"It's raining."

"It's not that bad," Dean said, trying to find words for what he really wanted to say.

"Famous last words," Cas sighed as the drizzle became a downpour.

"Shit," Dean agreed, and they ran for the car.

Their night was cut short as Dean drove Cas home. In the rain, at night, without the park, they had nowhere else to go. Not really. The short drive was mostly taken up by a minor disagreement over where to drop Cas off (which Dean won, by the way – "Cas, it's pouring, I'm not dropping you off two blocks away – " "Dean, Michael knows what your car looks like, if he sees it outside – " "Fine, if you want to explain to him why you went for a walk in the rain at two in the morning – " "Oh, for God's sake, Dean, fine – "). But when they turned up Cas' street, Dean slowed and cleared his throat. Cas looked over at him, question clear on his face.

"What you said before – do you really think that far ahead? Like, that we'll really still be…together. Next summer." Dean could feel Cas' eyes on him from the passenger seat, and Dean couldn't really blame him. It was the first time that something other than friendship between them had been acknowledged aloud.

(Whatever, so neither of them was exactly awesome at talking about their feelings. Sue them.)

"Of course," Cas said at last, just as Dean pulled up in front of the Milton residence. Dean parked and turned to meet Cas' gaze. Those blue eyes were open and serious and full of something that made Dean's chest hurt. It was a look he had seen on Cas' face a lot the past couple weeks, and it never failed to completely shut him up. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Dean, but I've always assumed that if we – if we were ever together," Cas' mouth twitched up around the word, "That this would be a forever kind of thing."

Oh.

Okay.

What was he even supposed to say to that? Dean hadn't even been able to think until the end of the summer, and here was Cas, planning out forever, and Dean was a little terrified by how _okay_ with that he was. He was scared of how that didn't scare him. Cas kept staring at him, expression even, waiting for Dean to say something. He didn't seem scared either.

Dean kissed him. Enthusiastically. Cas responded in kind.

When they broke apart, panting slightly, Cas just smiled and shook his head. "One of these days, you're going to have to learn to express your feelings with actual words."

"But my way's so much better," Dean said with a grin.

Cas opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped, whipping his head around to fully face his house. "Did you see that?" And now, now he sounded scared.

"No," Dean said, following Cas' eyes. "Cas, what's wrong?"

"My moth – Lilith, she was standing in the window."

"_What_?" Dean's voice was harsher than he meant it to be, but Cas didn't seem to notice.

"I didn't see her until she moved, I think she was holding the curtain up because it fell, which is when I saw and Dean what if she saw us?" Cas sounded like he was on the edge of panic, and it was all Dean could do not to join him there.

"Cas, it's okay." Dean tightened his hand on where it rested on Cas' shoulder and Cas looked back at him, eyes wide. "Really. She was probably just looking at the rain, right? And even if she saw anything, what's she going to do? Probably stoned, won't even remember tomorrow, right? Hell, maybe she's sleepwalking, it's gotta be a side effect of at least one of the pills she's on."

Cas nodded, drawing a deep, shaky breath and running a hand through his hair (which didn't exactly help the state of it, as Dean's hand had been tangled in it not a minute before).

"You're right. I'll see you tomorrow," he promised. With a quick glance outside to check the windows of his house, Cas kissed Dean on the corner of the mouth and got out of the car.

Dean couldn't help but feel happy as he drove away, the pit of unease in his gut fading away. Any fears about Lilith were far overshadowed by what Cas had said. They had a future. Even if it was a stupid one where they wandered around San Francisco for a day holding hands or something. They had a future. Together.

He and Cas, they were gonna be okay.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Whoo, okay, so. To follow up the unapologetic fluff of last chapter, here is a full chapter of...of definitely not fluff. Seriously y'all. Some warnings for this chapter: firsthand (well, third person, but firsthand, as it were) description of a minor panic attack; references to domestic abuse/child abuse, both verbal and physical; actual verbal abuse happening; homophobic slurs being tossed around like confetti at a parade. Also language/cursing, if that's something that bothers you, which if that's the case, I'm kinda surprised you're still reading this, because I have an unfortunate tendency to cuss like it's going out of style.  
_

_Other than that, insert traditional disclaimer with regards to ownership here, and uh yeah.  
_

_That's that.  
_[this is a line break]

No one had heard from Cas in three days.

Dean was practically panicking. No, fuck that, he _was_ panicking. There was this horrible tight feeling in his chest that threatened to explode every second. He couldn't concentrate at work – Bobby had to pull him out from beneath a car he hadn't jacked up right because couldn't focus on anything other than, _come on, Cas, where the hell are you?_

(Bobby had yelled at him for about five minutes straight after, to _pay some attention to your damn work, boy, I do not need blood all over these cars and neither do the customers, paying customers I might remind you, and do you know how much a damn death on the job will jack up my insurance I can't afford that shit. _ But afterward he gave Dean a worried look and called him an idjit, which meant he still loved him.)

Dean knew he wasn't the only one who noticed the absence of big blue eyes in their little gang. Sammy kept giving him these long, worried looks and Jo kept frowning and fidgeting, but nobody said anything about it. He wondered vaguely if maybe the other two thought he and Cas had broken up or were fighting again or something, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. Finally, Ellen had had enough of all of them moping around the Roadhouse like they were waiting for the world to end.

"Dean, you call these dishes clean?" Ellen called from the back room, mid-afternoon on the third day with maybe an hour left until the supper rush. "Get your ass back here, I wanna show you these."

"Awww, Ellen, c'mon," Dean whined, even as he stood and slouched into the back room. Ellen closed the door firmly behind him. _Shit_, Dean couldn't help but think as Ellen positioned herself in front of him, eyebrows raised, arms crossed, wearing her I-mean-business face.

"Out with it, kid," Ellen demanded quietly. Okay, private conversation. This was bad.

"Out with what?" Dean returned, even though this was clearly about Cas. (Who was he kidding, his entire friggin life these days, all the parts that didn't revolve around Sammy, all of it, everything was about Cas.)

"Are you and Castiel fighting again? He hasn't been by, he hasn't even called, and all of you are sitting around all miserable, and _you_," Dean winced at her tone. "You look like you're gonna jump out of your skin and now you look guilty as hell. What's going on, Dean?"

Maybe two months ago, Dean would have shrugged and said something noncommittal to get Ellen off his back and returned to freaking out by himself, but – "No, we're not – we're not fighting, it's just – " Dean hesitated, throat closing up around the words, not knowing how much to say. "I think Cas is in trouble. Because of me."

Ellen just raised her eyebrows, and Dean hesitated. It wasn't like he could tell Ellen what had happened, not really. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? The big secret. This bullshit secret that had to be kept because half the people that mattered in his life couldn't be counted on to be okay with whatever he and Cas were because they weren't _straight_ because they weren't _normal_ because they weren't _good enough_.

And maybe two months ago, Dean would have shrugged and said something noncommittal to get Ellen off his back. Maybe two months ago, Dean would have said he was pretty sure Michael knew he and Cas were hanging out and Cas was probably grounded again, would Ellen call Dean if she heard from him? Maybe two months ago, he wouldn't have been so worked up about going three days without hearing from Cas (because really, it wasn't like this was the first time it had happened, just the first time since – since).

But now? Cas was right. He hated the sneaking, too.

"Lilith saw us. Together. A few nights back, it was raining and I dropped him off and we – and she saw us." Dean was a little surprised that he had managed to say anything, but now that he was talking the words just kept coming, like the pressure in his chest squeezing them out of him. "And I didn't think it was a big deal, she's always stoned anyways, and I told Cas it would be fine, it was supposed to be _fine_ and it's not she must've told Michael because I haven't heard from Cas since and nobody has and – and – " Dean cut off, his throat closing up completely. He couldn't breathe. Michael knew and Cas was in serious trouble and Dean didn't know how bad and Michael had never hit Cas but what if he couldn't stop with the what ifs and he _couldn't breathe_.

"Whoa, there, kid, take a deep breath, okay?" Ellen stepped forward, alarmed, putting a hand on each of Dean's shoulders (getting to be a little awkward, since Dean was finally starting to be taller than her). "Michael Milton already knows you two still see each other, calls me to bitch about it, tells me to keep an eye on Castiel for him. I just tell him sure and then give the kid extra fries." She snorted derisively. "So it's not news to Michael, alright, Cas – he'll be okay. Michael probably just grounded him again. Just _breathe_, Dean."

Maybe two months ago, Dean would've taken a deep breath and laughed at how stupid he was being and nodded and said yeah and gone back to pretending like he wasn't worried at all. But he couldn't now.

Ellen would…would Ellen care? It would be better telling her than telling Dad or even Bobby, but…Dean managed to shake his head – he was shaking all over now, hunching over, still unable to get a full breath, god this was humiliating – shook his head, no, no it wasn't alright.

"No?" Ellen asked, concern clouding her face, "Dean, honey, what's wrong, what do you think's happened?"

"I'm not stupid, I know Michael knows Cas hangs out with us." Okay, he didn't mean to snap, and from the way Ellen pursed her lips she didn't exactly appreciate it, and he hurried to talk over himself. "That's not – what Lilith saw," deep breath, "Me and Cas. Together." He couldn't say any more than that, couldn't force himself to make it any clearer, except to add, "And now Michael knows, knows about Cas. And me."

There was a long moment of absolute silence as Dean tried to remember how to breathe and tried not to look at Ellen but couldn't help but look at Ellen as he watched realization dawn slowly on her face.

"Dean," she said softly, slowly, putting a gentle, calloused hand on his face. "Dean, honey, look at me. Just look at me, okay?" Dean did, reluctantly, his heart beating like it was going to burst from his chest. "Are you and Castiel – " she cut off, apparently unsure how to finish the sentence. There was an awful sinking feeling in Dean's chest. If even Ellen couldn't say it, if even Ellen couldn't be okay with this, what the _fuck_ was he supposed to do? Ellen closed her eyes, breathed for a second, opened them and, staring intently at Dean, continued. "Was Jo right? Are you and Castiel together?"

Dean closed his eyes and nodded once. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Ellen. "Alright. And Lilith saw you two outside doing what – you know, nevermind, I don't even wanna go there." She gave a weak laugh and Dean blinked his eyes open again hopefully. "And now Michael knows Cas is gay?"

Dean nodded again. Ellen pursed her lips and murmured, "Shit," under her breath, making Dean flinch. He cursed himself right after for letting it show, but Ellen saw because she frowned at him slightly before drawing one more deep breath (seriously, was she doing breathing exercises to keep from freaking out or something because if it was working, she needed to teach Dean how to do that, like, now). "Does anyone else know?"

"Sammy," Dean managed. "And – and Jo. That's it."

Ellen nodded again, seeming to process the information. Dean couldn't figure out the look on her face. She was frowning, but not at him, staring instead somewhere over his shoulder, over her hand still resting there. He wanted to ask what she thought Michael would do to Cas, or if she would call to check on him, but what came out instead was, "Are you mad?"

Ellen blinked once at him in disbelief, and then her face melted into the saddest Dean had seen it since Bill died, years and years ago. She wrapped both arms tight around Dean and hugged him to her, resting her chin on his shoulder. It took her almost a minute to do anything other than hug him, but when she spoke, her voice was choked with tears. "No, baby, of course not. I'm not mad at all, never think that, okay? I love you, and I know you don't like to listen to this shit, but you hear me now, Dean Winchester, I love you like you were my own kid and this doesn't change that at all. You hear me?"

"Yes ma'am," Dean mumbled gratefully into Ellen's hair, and maybe there were tears in his voice, too. He was hugging Ellen back, just as tightly, clutching the back of her jacket like a drowning man. But despite the fact that she might be crushing his ribcage, Dean found he could breathe again.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Ellen said after another minute, stepping away from Dean. "We're gonna go back out there, smiling with our brave faces on like the grown-ass folks we are," she reached out and wiped away a tear (a very manly tear, Dean tried to reassure himself) from Dean's face, giving him a watery smile. "And I am gonna call Michael Milton. And I am going to find out where Castiel has been, and we're gonna get him back. And you two are going to be fine. Okay?"

"Okay." Dean felt like some of the weight on his lungs had been lifted. Ellen gave his shoulder one final squeeze and headed toward the front room. "Wait," Dean blurted, and she turned around. He shifted for a second before voicing what he had barely dared think underneath his concern for Cas. "Do you think – do you think Michael will tell my dad?"

Ellen's face fell, and Dean's stomach sank. It must've showed, because she reached over and put a hand on his shoulder again. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay, kid? For now, let's just get Castiel back."

Back out in the common room of the Roadhouse, Sam and Jo were bickering over something while the place slowly filled up with dinner patrons. Ellen waved to a few people and shouted for Ash to get his ass in here and start taking orders already, and you could help, too, Joanna. But Ellen herself headed straight for the phone behind the counter and Dean followed, still too full of Cas to sit and banter with Sam and Jo. He sat himself next to where Ellen stood, on a short stool near the bar, largely out of sight of customers.

"Hey, Michael, Ellen Harvelle here. I'm calling 'cause we've been missing Castiel around here for the past few days. He alright? Excuse me? Oh, really, is that – How dare you even – oh, because you've done such a damn fine job of being family!" Ellen's tone was heating up and she was starting to raise her voice dangerously and Dean's heart was speeding up and his stomach was dropping. "You ignorant swine, you have no idea how to care for your nephew – oh, is that your answer, just brainwash him until he's a self-righteous prick like you? I will damn well use whatever language I please – You have no right, you stay away from him. I _am_ his family – I hope to hell and back that the moment that boy turns eighteen he leaves and you never see him again, because he sure as hell deserves a better family than you could ever be. Oh? Well, you know what, Milton? Go fuck yourself!"

With that, Ellen slammed the phone back into its cradle, the crash echoing in the ringing silence that filled the bar. Ellen ignored the stares that her progressively louder phone conversation had earned her and turned calmly to Dean. Her face was tense and angry and determined, but there was a sadness or a worry pulling at the corner of her eye that hit Dean like a sledgehammer. Any hopes he had had a few minutes before that it was all going to somehow be okay vanished.

"You were right, she told Michael. He's not taking it so well. He's sending Castiel away." Dean felt all the blood drain from his face and he opened his mouth to protest, but Ellen held up a hand to cut him off. "Not now. I'll explain more later. But right now, I suggest you take your brother and go home, because Milton is considering the possibility of calling your father. I think John would rather hear this from you first, if he's going to hear it at all."

"Sammy," Dean said, lurching to his feet, and no, his voice didn't wobble at all. "Sammy, come on, we need to get home."

"Okay?" Sam's eyes were big and confused, and he was giving Dean the sort of pathetic puppy dog face that would normally make Dean tell him everything, but right now he was too caught up in _he's sending Cas away_. Dean grabbed his little brother by the elbow and practically bolted from the Roadhouse, shoving Sam into the car and fumbling his own door in his haste to get it shut.

"Dean, Dean what's going on? We couldn't hear Ellen talking to you, we were too far away. What's wrong?" Dean just shook his head. He didn't have an answer for that right now, not with his mind racing with ways he could see Cas before he was gone and wondering when he'd be back or if there was a better way to come out of the closet to John Winchester than, _hey Dad, so my boyfriend's crazy uncle found out about us and is gonna call you and tell you all about it, so you should probably know that I like dudes, too_.

The world was falling apart.

[this is a line break]

When they screeched into their driveway, Sam crying out _Dean!_ And gripping the Jesus handle with white knuckles, the first thing Dean saw was John's car parked in front of the garage. He had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The second thing he saw was a small spot of white marring the dark green of the summer grass on the lawn. With a quick glance at the front door, he jogged over the lawn first, his heart rate picking up as he realized it was a paper airplane.

His mind flashed immediately to the day last week, a rainy day when he and Cas had holed up in a corner of the Roadhouse, practically eating Ellen out of business with all the French fries they consumed. Cas had sat there, patiently trying to explain to Dean how to properly fold a paper airplane – something he was freakishly good at, for reasons beyond Dean's comprehension. Dean had just loved the excuse to have Cas' hands on his, even though they were in public.

Now he saw the airplane lying on the ground and he knew it was from Cas, maybe thrown from a car window on the way out of town because _they were sending Cas away_. He picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands, hearing Sam faintly still shouting his name. There were a few lines scribbled on a torn sheet of looseleaf in smudged pencil, Cas' normally neat and careful script slanted and hurried.

_Dean – I know we never said it but it's always been implied but right now I want you to know – no matter what happens or what they tell you or even what I tell you trust me in this – I love you._

Dean thought he was gonna throw up.

There was a hand on his shoulder and he jerked instinctively away, whirling around to see Sam standing there, looking nothing short of terrified. He bit his lip and nodded to the door. Still clutching the folded piece of looseleaf in a white-knuckled hand, Dean looked to the front porch. John was standing there, arms crossed across his chest, looking at Dean, just looking. It wasn't the way Ellen had looked at him, wasn't the way she had crossed her arms. The look on his face was…was the one he'd given Dean when Dean had stood up to him for the first time, stood up to him to protect Sammy. The look on his face right before he hit Dean for the first time.

Dean swallowed, tried to remember to breathe. "Hey Dad."

John's expression didn't change. "Dean, come inside. We need to talk."

Dean nodded and started toward the door. Sam followed, but Dean turned and said under his breath, "Sammy, go. Go next door to Missouri's or something, I don't care, just go."

"Dean, no." The look on Sam's face was something fierce and protective, something Dean had never seen there before, but a look he recognized all the same. It was his own protective big brother look, come back to haunt him on the still chubby, rounded features of Sammy. Well, shit. Sammy was growing up. And that wasn't something he had the energy to try to reflect on right now, so he just nodded and followed his Dad inside.

The door clicked shut behind them and Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm himself with a deep breath like Ellen had kept doing this afternoon. It didn't work, and a heavy dread settled in his gut.

"So Michael Milton called me a few minutes ago." John's voice was low and calm and sober and somehow that much more terrifying for all that.

"Yeah? I didn't realize you two were buddies." Sam made a slight noise at Dean's terse voice and cavalier attitude. John's face stayed the same.

"We're not. But he had some information he thought I'd might want to know."

"What, insider stock information? Hotline number to that god character he's always going on about?"

"Dean," Sam said softly in warning tones from behind him.

John ignored them both. "So when exactly were you planning on letting me know that you're a goddamned faggot, Dean?"

He knew it was coming, but that didn't stop Dad's words from feeling like a physical blow. Through the sudden rushing noise in his ears, Dean heard himself say, "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Sorry for what? Sorry for not telling me? For sneaking around and going behind my back and bringing that little fag Castiel under my roof and tricking me into welcoming him when the whole time he was – was _turning_ you or something?"

"Dad, please, don't put this on Cas," Dean said quietly, unable to look at John.

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to blame it on, Dean? Because I may be a shit father, but I did not raise _my son_ to be – to be _this_." It was horrible in that Dad couldn't even say it, couldn't even say what Dean was. It was worse in that John's voice never got any louder, any angrier. He was just…cold. Serious. Final.

"Please, Dad, don't," and Dean was begging, but he didn't know what for, because what was there to say? What was he supposed to say to a father that was disgusted by who he was?

Dean loved his dad. He really did. Why the fuck else would he have put up with so much shit from the man over the years, when he knew perfectly well that Ellen or Bobby would've taken him and Sam in in an instant? He loved his dad because he remembered when his mom was still alive and they'd take him to T-ball and Dad would proudly cheer him on. He loved his dad because, as much as he had fucked up, he still sometimes tried – like this summer, sobering up, getting to know his kids again. He loved his dad because he knew that, in spite of everything, his dad loved him.

In spite of the drinking and the yelling and the broken bottles and the bruises. In spite of the crying jags on Mary's birthday or the weeks where he didn't get out of bed and the angry words thrown at Dean when he tried to help. In spite of never being there, of being more of a child than a parent. In spite of everything he did that made it seem otherwise, John Winchester loved his sons, and Dean knew this. It was why he stuck around, why he took the punches, why he always backed down to keep the peace. Because John didn't mean it, not really, because John loved them. And yeah, maybe that was fifty kinds of fucked up, but Dean didn't care because family was family and you stuck together, right?

"Dean, you can't just let him – " Sam started in disbelief, but Dean cut him off.

"Sammy, not now, okay? Just – not now."

"Sam, if you know what's good for you, you will not get involved in this conversation. Unless you want to tell me now that you're a fairy, too?" John turned his eyes to Sam for the first time since they'd gotten home and Sam quailed under his glare, shaking his head and backing off. (It would be almost two more years before Sam really learned to stand up to John, before he started yelling back, before the fights got ugly, and Dean will never stop thinking that it was his fault because he _left_ them.)

"And frankly, Dean," John continued, his voice starting to rise a little at last as he turned back to the problem, to Dean. "I expected more from you. You've always understood, you've always been a good kid, too good to me by half," and Dad's voice wasn't nearly as soft there as his words wanted it to be, "You were a good son and a good brother to Sam and now this? Is this your idea of getting back at me? Is this some stupid teenage rebellion thing? Because you can just cut that shit out right now, you hear me?"

Dean put up with a lot of shit, a lot of horrible words, because Dad was _family_ and he loved them.

"No, Dad, it's just – it's just _me_, I'm not doing this on purpose – " Dean's voice was shaking and his hands were shaking and dammit he shouldn't have to be apologizing for this, he shouldn't have to have to explain himself.

"It's 'just you'?" John repeated in disbelief, his tone turning angry at last. It was almost a relief. "No, this isn't you, Dean. You are my _son_, you work on cars and play football and go on dates with a lot of different girls, which I used to worry about, but obviously I shouldn't have been because I want that back. You are my goddamn _son_, not some fruit with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth like the Milton kid."

John was _family_ and he _loved_ them.

"Don't talk about Cas like that – " because it was easier to defend Cas than himself, just like it had always been easier to step in on Sam's behalf then to raise an arm to protect his own body.

"Why, because he's your _boyfriend_?" John sneered the last word with such venom that Dean actually flinched back.

John was _family_ –

"Because I love him – " Dean blurted before he even knew what he was saying, his hand twitching tighter around the note he had carried through all of this. There was a moment of horrible silence and then –

John laughed. It was the darkest, most horrible, strangled sound Dean had ever heard leave his father's mouth, and it tore a hole right through him. "Like hell you do," John retorted in disgust. "I cannot fucking believe this. I expected better from you, Dean."

- and he didn't love Dean anymore.

It was too much. Too much in one day to lose Cas and be outed to his father, to _everyone_, before he was even sure what he wanted to label himself, or if he wanted to at all. Too much to be mocked and derided and laughed at for the one thing that had made him the happiest he'd ever been. Too much. It was too much to lose Cas and Dad in the same day.

"Get out," he said. His own voice was as flat and quietly dangerous as John's had been earlier, and he almost scared himself a little bit.

John's face fell into an expression of shock and thinly veiled anger. "What did you just say to me?"

"Get out," Dean repeated, louder now, fists clenching by his sides, paper airplane crumpling slightly in his hand. "I don't want to hear this anymore, I can't take this. Get out."

"You can't order me out of my own house, boy – "

"_Get. OUT_," Dean screamed it this time. "_LEAVE, JUST GET OUT."_

And to his never-ending surprise, John did.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Warnings for themes of homophobic asshole parents. We're finishing up our lovely little (okay, so not so little) flashback here, and we'll be back to the present tense next chapter! Yay! As always, I own none of this, everything is ripped off from the owners with much love, etc etc._

"It's some kind of Bible camp," Ellen told Dean over the phone the next day. "I went down to the church Milton goes to, got a pamphlet about the place. Dean, it…it looks bad."

"Bad how, Ellen?" Dean was sitting on the couch, eyes closed, as if that would keep him from having to deal with the shitshow his life had become in the last twenty-four hours. "What d'you mean, Bible camp? I'm guessin' this isn't something for little kids."

"It's for gay teens. To – " Ellen drew in a sharp breath, and Dean could practically feel the heat of her anger through the phone. "To _cure_ them."

Dean kept thinking that it couldn't get any worse than it already was, but something proved him wrong every time. One of these days, the bad news would stop hitting him so hard. Today was, apparently, not that day. "Mother_fucker_," he swore, forgetting who was on the other line.

For once, though, Ellen didn't reprimand him. "Couldn't agree more," she said grimly. "Listen, though, Dean. When Castiel gets outta there, odds are he's gonna need you _more_ than ever, not less. The little prison camp gets done before school starts, so he'll be back, okay? We'll figure this out yet, kid."

"Thanks, Ellen. Really."

"Yeah, yeah. You're family, Dean, wouldn't do any less for Jo." Ellen hesitated, then continued. "Speaking of family, I wanted to let you know. John'll be back home this afternoon."

Dean went cold. "Oh?" he managed, in a slightly strangled tone.

"You two are gonna have some shit to work out, but hopefully he'll be reasonable about it now. Bobby talked him down some."

"So now Bobby knows, too." It wasn't even a question at this point. Apparently, all that stupid sneaking around had been for nothing.

"Yeah, but Dean, don't worry about it. I know you weren't – weren't ready for us to know, but me and Bobby, we're behind you all the way, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. Family don't end with blood," he said resignedly, echoing something Bobby had spat at him on more than one occasion.

"Damn straight. Now, I gotta go, I got some people here claiming they're something called a 'customer' and they wanna pay me to feed 'em or something. I'll check in on you later, kid, but call if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, Ellen. Thanks again."

Dean hung up the phone and went back to what he'd been doing all morning – reading and re-reading the note Cas had left for him. He'd had the words memorized for hours by now, flattened out every fold and wrinkle until the page looked like it'd been ironed. Sam was upstairs, blasting shitty pop music and pretending like his family wasn't falling apart around him. Dean couldn't exactly blame the kid; this was bad even for Winchester drama. And Dean would rather be left alone anyway.

Sometime that afternoon, John came home. He came in quietly, with none of the bluster of his anger or his drunkenness, walking calmly into the den to find Dean sitting alone on the couch still. Dean couldn't even bring himself to look at his father. His entire body felt heavy with emotion, with loss. He was so tired of this bullshit.

"Hey, Dad," he greeted, his voice quiet and weary in a way he didn't expect.

"Dean." John stood, barely visible in the periphery of Dean's vision, unapologetic, unaccommodating. He sighed. "Talked to Bobby. But, given how Ellen seems to gossip these days, I'm guessing you already know that." Dean didn't make any noise or move to confirm or deny. It felt like the only thing left to do was to just weather the storm. "I'm not kicking you out or sending you to some Jesus camp like that Milton fuckhead. I'm not going to fight with you about it. In fact, we are never going to talk about it again. Understood?

"I don't care if this is you being confused or your hormones being in overdrive or if it's some stupid rebellious phase or something you think is actually real. I don't give a fuck. I don't want to hear about it again. You are never going to mention this – to me or anybody else. You are not to bring boys like Castiel over. And if that boy ever gets out of his little Bible rehab group, he is not welcome under this roof. Ever again. I don't care whether the religious nuts manage to convert him or not. I am not going to see you with him again.

"Do you understand me, Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." And John left the room. Dean kept sitting.

The last of summer vacation flew by in a vague haze of work and sleep and avoiding John. Dean didn't come around the Roadhouse much anymore, though Ellen called sometimes to check up on him. Sam started hanging out at home more, and he and Dean would sit and watch TV or play stupid board games and Sam would talk at Dean until he smiled or started to perk up enough to mock Sam for his increasingly ridiculous hair. He tried to lecture Dean about stages of grief or some other bullshit once, but Dean told him to shut the fuck up, and Sammy did. Jo would come around sometimes too; or, she came around until she got grounded on principle after someone egged the Milton house, keyed Michael's car, and let all the air out of the bastard's tires. When interrogated, Jo just smiled her shark grin and said that nothing could be proved, but she'd like to shake the hand of the hero that did it. Dean grinned and clapped her on the back and told her that she might turn out all right yet.

Dad hadn't needed to worry about Cas being allowed back in the house when he got back. The simple reason being, he didn't come back. The day before school started back up, a Uhaul appeared outside the Milton place, though the "for sale" sign didn't show up in front of the house until almost a week after they'd gone. Rumor was that they had moved to somewhere more…suitable for their newly rehabilitated queer, that they'd left to have more control over the last remaining Milton kid. Dean managed to work up the hope that Cas fucking ran away from them and found Gabe and Anna and they all lived happily ever after. He had to try, because he had to try to feel much of anything these days. Most of what he did feel was, he finally understood a bit what Cas must have gone through when his older siblings left, that stupid sinking sense of abandonment that was completely unfair but stayed and lived and festered under Dean's skin all the same.

School was hell.

They'd said it would be, didn't they? One of those nights in the park. The last night? Maybe. (It was already starting to blur together a bit for Dean, and that freaked him out more than anything else had managed to do since Cas had been sent away.) In any case, they'd been right. Except now Dean was facing it down alone, and it was worse than he'd imagined.

He didn't know or care how people knew, because they did, or at least they thought they did, and it turned out that was enough. Dean had never exactly had a lot of friends, but he had gotten along okay. Not anymore. Now the guys on the team sneered when he waved, shouldered him into lockers without bothering to look at him. Now when girls giggled when he walked by, it was clearly not because they admired his winning grin; there was something disdainful and almost sinister in their laughter. Now he came into school to find "fag" scribbled across his locker in sharpie, other students laughing as he tried in vain to wipe it off with his sleeve.

And it wasn't like Dean took this shit lying down. His emotions were starting to come back to him, slowly but surely, a burning anger at the base of them. He had gotten into fights before, sure, a couple of times, either stepping in to defend Cas or before Cas could step in and stop Dean from doing something incredibly stupid. But now – by the third week of school, Dean was in Henrikson's office for the fourth time, eye swelling and darkening, nose stuffed with tissues. Again.

"Dean Winchester, what the hell is going on with you?" Henrikson said casually. As much as Dean bitched about the principal, he'd always kinda liked the guy, mostly because Henrikson talked like this. He didn't try to bullshit the students, which Dean had to respect. "I've got trouble enough in this school without you going out of your way to cause more just because your usual partner in crime up and moved himself out of state."

"I'm dropping out," Dean said, which he figured kinda answered Henrikson's question, and if it didn't, well, Henrikson could go fuck himself.

Henrikson's eyebrows shot up. "Well pardon me for thinking I saw potential in you, Winchester. You know what, you go right ahead and throw away your future over this. Have fun."

Well, that wasn't exactly how Dean envisioned it going the first time he announced his new plan to someone, but hey, what could you do? Apparently it was his year for letting people down. Might as well continue the trend.

Dean stood to walk out of the office. "Thanks. I will."

"Winchester," Henrikson called just as Dean put his hand on the door. Dean turned, defiant, but Henrikson just sat back in his swivel chair, looking completely unconcerned. "Get your goddamn GED."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied, and he couldn't help but grin a little bit.

So Dean dropped out. Dad wasn't pleased about it ("And what exactly are you planning on doing instead of finishing high school?" "Leaving Lawrence." "And who's gonna watch after your brother?" "Sammy's fourteen, he can take care of himself – " "Yeah, Dad, I'll be fine, I like school – " "Not now, Sam." "I'm not staying, Dad." "Your mother would be so disappointed in you." "Yeah, well, who isn't?") but Dean could handle it. Ellen's pursed lips and Bobby's silent, disapproving glare were a little harder to deal with, but Dean just buried himself in work at the garage and studying for his GED.

He passed in one go, which even Dad had to admit in a grunt of appreciation was a job well done. He kept working for Bobby, full time again, through the winter and spring, staying in Lawrence to see Sammy through his freshman year of high school. He didn't have to worry. Sam thrived. (Nerd.) Miracle of miracles, John stayed sober. In June, Dean hugged Sam goodbye, promised Ellen he'd call, assured Bobby he'd take good care of the Impala, and exchanged a too-formal goodbye with Dad. And then he was gone.

The open road brought him back to himself, made him feel alive, in a way nothing in Lawrence had since Cas had left. He crashed at truck stops, motel parking lots, campgrounds, parking garages, open fields, lean-to's on hiking trails, and even the occasional actual motel room. He went and saw landmarks, stupid tourist attractions, natural wonders. He hooked up with girls and guys he met along the way, stayed in one place for a whole month to be with Cassie Robinson, but always left again for the siren call of the open highway. He stopped sometimes to work – on farms, in exchange for room and board; in auto shops, for spare cash or the tools to tune up his baby – and learned how to cook over a campfire and how to make food and money go as far as possible.

He went back to Lawrence for Christmas every year, sometimes Thanksgiving, Sam's birthday. He was there for Sam's high school graduation and stayed the whole summer, catching up with everyone, not-flirting with Jo (she grew up good, though Dean still wondered about her). In August, he packed up the Impala with all of Sammy's shit, and Ellen and Jo followed them out to California, and the four of them spent a weekend setting up Sam and Jo's dorm rooms at Stanford. John didn't come, because sometime in the years since Dean had left, Dad and Sam had learned to fight, to scream at each other, to fume in their silences and clench their jaws through apologies. Dean found himself making peace, mediating over the phone more often than he wanted, trying to hold together the remnants of the family he had abandoned. It worked, barely.

That Christmas, John got drunk again for the first time in more than four years. Driving back from Bobby's, Dean in the backseat half-asleep on eggnog and disappointment in his father, Dad and Sam argued over speed and snow conditions (and Dean would later think bitterly that the only time they'd ever got snow on Christmas it had cost them almost everything). Sam, his only driving experience in Kansas and California, slid on the slick roads, into the wrong lane, into an oncoming truck. Dad, true to form, wasn't wearing his seatbelt. When Dean woke up in the hospital three days later, Sam was tired and bruised and red-eyed, and Dad was dead.

Between the funeral and the hospital bills and the seemingly endless physical therapy, there was no money. Sam offered – more than once – to drop out of school. Dean told him to shut the fuck up.

Dean sold the house (in the end, to their neighbor Missouri, because she was the only one who'd take it, and Dean felt better with their past in her hands anyway). Left to figure out what kind of job would want someone whose only experience was fixing cars and fucking up, Dean wound up selling insurance in Indiana to put Sam through school. Until, of course, he went postal and threw his computer out a window.

And after that came Lisa and Ben and his new life, and in between were a whole bunch of other important things – Bobby and Ellen's wedding and Sam and Ruby's wedding and Jo and Jess becoming…whatever it is they are. Everyone in Dean's life growing up and getting together and having lives in a way that Dean, with his casual hookups and one-night-stands, can't seem to figure out how to do. So instead he's been running, even after settling down with the Braedens; running from a past that's finally catching up to him, drowning him for nine hours in memories of blue eyes until he dumps himself on Ellen's doorstep for Thanksgiving.


	11. Chapter 11

_(A/N: Since this is the last chapter, see the end for notes and such.)_

He rolls into Lawrence a little before seven that night, letting the familiarity of the drive – the houses, the sound of the gravel as he rolls into the driveway of the Roadhouse – drive out the ancient history that's occupied his mind the whole way home. He can't help but smile to himself when he sees Jo and Jess' rickety little station wagon already there, parked next to what is clearly Bobby's most recent rustbucket, and Ellen's typical small, sensible sedan. Sam, Ruby, and their coming hellspawn aren't getting there 'til tomorrow, so it's just Dean and the Singer-Harvelles for the night.

Before Dean can even knock on the back door that leads to the 'house' part of the Roadhouse, said door slams open and a large mass of plaid flannel and blonde hair half tackles him in a hug and the traditional words shouted into his shoulder, "Welcome home, dumbass." Dean returns the sentiment by lifting Jo off the ground and swinging her around in a circle as she screeches, only putting her down when he hears Jess laughing in the doorway.

"I'm assuming that ruckus means one of those Winchester idjits is here?" Bobby's voice calls from somewhere inside, sounding, as usual, equal amounts pissed and pleased to see the men who are practically his sons.

"Yep," Jess calls back, grinning at Dean and Jo and waving them inside.

"Well, come on in, it ain't exactly July out there, you're lettin' in the cold," Bobby grouses, and Dean rolls his eyes at Jo, who just laughs and tugs him indoors by the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Inside, Bobby wraps Dean in a firm, one-armed hug (his other hand is holding a bottle of beer) and says, "'Sgood to see you, boy." Jess nudges his shoulder with her own and says, "Long time no see, man-friend, how's it been out Eastward?" to which Dean gives a smile and a noncommittal reply. Ellen comes out of the kitchen area, where she's probably been fussing and preparing food all day, demanding help and kicking people out by turns (Dean knows from experience that this process will be repeated tomorrow) to give him a certified Harvelle hug – secretly Dean's favorite kind – and a "Welcome back, kid."

God, it's good to be home.

After everyone's finished hugging and greeting and bitching about their respective drives – Jo and Jess came all the way from San Francisco, and you'd be surprised what Bobby can complain about in the four miles between his house and Ellen's – everyone settles down in the den to catch up on each other's lives for the past year. Thanksgiving is really the only time they all get together, though there are random visits in between for Christmas or birthdays or just for the hell of it. But Thanksgiving is special.

Sometimes, sitting on a worn and comfortable couch in Ellen's den at Thanksgiving time, Dean can't help but get a little sappy and marvel at how they've all found each other like this. He never says that shit aloud, of course; Jess and Jo would never let him forget it, and Sam would be way too enthused to get misty-eyed and talk about _feelings_. But he thinks it.

Thinks about how, when Karen died when Dean was six, Bobby swore he'd never get married again, and everyone believed him. And when Bill died when Dean was fourteen, Ellen sort of shut down and moved on and closed ranks tighter around Jo and the kids she sorta adopted along the way. Somehow, loving Dean and Sam became something that Bobby and Ellen shared, and between caring for the kids and kicking John Winchester's ass and being ornery single people, the two of them came together over and over again, until they got so used to fighting and making up (and hooking up, but Dean's with Jo there – best not to think about it too much) that they ended up married so as to go on doing it more conveniently. Bobby's shaping up to be a curmudgeonly old fuck, insisting that he needs his space, dammit, and he refuses to sell his house; Ellen's just as stubborn, and still lives in the Roadhouse. Though they still spend most nights and half the day together, they're definitely not the most ordinary couple Dean's ever met.

All the same, they've got nothing on Jo and Jess, because Dean still has no fucking clue what their relationship is. Which is kinda sad, because he's pretty sure he understands better than anyone else in the family, because he was there through Jo's whole figuring-it-out process. For a couple years there, when she was in her late teens and early twenties, Jo and Dean were best friends. (He kinda misses that, because Jo's a fucking amazing friend, but he's got Lisa now, and Sam, and it's not like he doesn't still have Jo.) Jo and Jess were roommates for that one semester at Stanford before Jo dropped out, but they parted on bad terms and didn't speak again 'til Sam brought Jess home for Thanksgiving his sophomore year. Awkward. Dean's still not sure exactly how it happened (and neither is Sam, he thinks) but somehow Jess ended up leaving Sam for Jo. Again, awkward. But hey, now they're living together in what Jess calls a "Boston marriage" and Jo calls "queerplatonic life partners," whatever the hell that is. At this point, everyone just sorta accepts that they're at least thirty percent gay and really fucking happy, and that's enough.

Somehow Sammy is the only one of them that ended up in anything resembling a normal relationship, which is honestly pretty much par for the course. Ruby, however, is completely unexpected. Sam met his lovely little demon of a wife at some point in his work as a defense attorney, though neither of them will say exactly how, except that Ruby saved Sam's ass more than once. She also doesn't seem to have much of a past, and Dean is pretty much convinced she's in like Witness Protection or some shit because some of the stuff that girl knows – well, let's just say that Dean adores Ruby, but she is sketch as hell. In any case, the two idjits ended up married and now they're having a baby, which even Dean can't hide how fucking excited he is about that, though he constantly refers to it as their hellspawn. (Dean thinks the baby's nickname is probably something Bobby started, given that his chosen endearment for Ruby is "Sam's hellbitch." Which, to be fair, Ruby kinda is. In a good way.)

It's good, catching up. Dean tells stories about Ben and trying to get the kid to try out for football, only to find out he'd rather try out for the school play – which is how Dean ended up making three dozen cupcakes for the drama club bake sale like a goddamn classroom mom. (Jo laughs and reminds him that it's not the first time, and explains to Jess about Sam's ninth and tenth grade obsession with musical theatre and Dean's wholehearted, if exasperated, support whenever he was in town.) Jess, as always, tells everyone the gossip from the hospital, where she works as a nurse, because Jess is a self-confessed gossip whore. Jo got promoted to Second Chief at her fire station, so they all toast to her. Ellen tells them all about her new girl at the Roadhouse, Charlie Bradbury (which Ellen doesn't think is her real name), that Ash found for her (yeah, Dean thinks, definitely not her real name) and how Charlie may or may not be dating Becky Rosen, this megadork-turned-journalist who totally had a crush on Sam in high school. Bobby makes his usual grumbling noises about how he's going to retire soon, getting too old to be putting up with customers' bullshit, and everyone rolls their eyes because no one believes him.

Later though, when the women are inside still and Dean and Bobby have wandered out to the back porch, Bobby turns to Dean and says, "I'm serious this time, Dean. About retiring. Only reason I haven't done it yet is 'cause I got no one to pass the shop on to."

"What, nobody at the shop up to your standards?" Dean asks, only half joking. Because seriously, Bobby's standards are friggin absurd. "Or do you just hate everyone that much?"

"The second one," Bobby grunts, a bit of humor sneaking into his tone. "I always wanted to hand it off to you, my half anyway, if you kept in the car-fixing business, 'specially after you got out of that insurance horseshit." Dean looks over at him in surprise, completely gobsmacked, something warm and unexpected blooming in his chest. (Goddamn Thanksgiving and goddamn family and goddamn feelings.) Bobby continues, "But now you got yerself all settled up in Cicero, in the damn suburbs, so I've been puttin' it off. Because everyone else is a dumbass."

"Bobby…" Dean trails off, not knowing what to say. Bobby just shrugs, ignoring Dean and staring at the sky.

"I could probably get the Milligan kid to do it, but he's been talkin' about going back to school. Rufus is threatening to buy me out of my half of the ownership and just fire me if I don't retire soon."

Dean snorts. Rufus Turner is Bobby's best friend and long-time business partner, and if Dean thinks Bobby is shaping up to be a curmudgeonly old fuck, he learned everything he knows on the subject from Rufus, who's been a curmudgeonly old fuck as long as Dean can remember.

"Anyway, I know you got your thing with Lisa and Ben, but you've always got a place here. I just want you to know that."

"I do know that, Bobby," Dean answers quietly. "Thanks."

"You know, boy," Bobby says, finally looking at Dean with something sad in his eyes. "Sometimes, I don't think you do."

The next morning, Sam and Ruby arrive at seven in the usual way – Sam crashing into things in the hall and Ruby shouting for everyone to rise and shine, motherfuckers. Dean stumbles downstairs from where he's sleeping in the guest room and grins at his Gigantor of a little brother, who looks utterly exhausted from driving all night. All the same, Sammy smiles huge and wraps his needy octopus arms around Dean in a crushing hug as Dean laughs and speaks into Sam's shirt, "Way to disrupt my beauty sleep, bitch."

"Nothing's ever going to make you pretty, jerk," Sam responds as he pulls away – or rather, Ruby shoves him aside so that she can shove her enormous baby gut at Dean as she half hugs him, half reaches out to punch him.

"Hey, asshole," she says fondly.

"Hey, demon bitch and coming hellspawn," Dean retorts, speaking the last to Ruby's truly intimidating stomach and grinning like an idiot. He and Ruby have always gotten along best this way, through insults and cussing and general rudeness in each other's presence. Sam groans that they bring out the worst in each other, but really, Dean thinks they get along swell. Which is actually probably what Sammy objects to so much.

"I wish you two wouldn't curse around the baby," Sam whines, and Ruby rolls her eyes because they've clearly had this argument a thousand times.

"Sam, it's gonna grow up in our house, it's gonna hear it eventually. And often."

"You're a bad influence on our unborn child," Sam accuses, but his heart's not in it, and he's smiling because he loves his foul-mouthed wife so much Dean thinks it's kinda gross.

The rest of the family arrives to greet them shortly, Jo hugging Ruby and punching Sam as she bitches about time zones and beauty sleep, while Jess rubs her eyes and wonders aloud if it's possible to have jet lag if you haven't technically flown anywhere, but gives Ruby the biggest hug of all of them, all the same. Bobby tells Ruby that, "shit, she's huge" and Sam that he "looks like hell, boy, the fuck is he doing driving." He calls Ruby a hellbitch in the same fond tone he calls Sam an idjit. Ellen rolls her eyes at her husband, doles out hugs, and shows Sam and Ruby to their room so they can get some sleep before the eating starts in a few hours. Because yeah, dinner may not be 'til four, but Thanksgiving is an all-day affair, thank you very much.

As expected, Ellen spends the day holed up in the enormous kitchen her half of the house shares with the actual Roadhouse. Most of the time, it seems excessive to cook in there, especially for just her and Bobby; but on Thanksgiving – well, they may only be seven people, but Dean swears they cook and eat as much as a busy Saturday night's worth of customers. Ellen tries to get everyone to help her out, but Dean and Jo get kicked out early on for eating more food than they're making and Bobby manages to make himself scarce somehow (Dean can't blame him – Ellen's _fierce_). So basically it's just Ellen and Jess and eventually Sam taking things in and out of ovens, setting timers, adding seasoning.

Left to their own devices, Dean and Jo bicker and laze about and munch on stolen food all day (courtesy of Ruby, who somehow uses her pregnancy to gain regular access to the kitchen and unfinished meal) as well as the appetizers that Sam will occasionally emerge with. Said appetizers are generally already half-eaten because, as Jess shouts at them from behind the kitchen door, the kitchen workers need sustenance back here, okay? At some point, as usual, the bickering devolves into name-calling and the both of them busting out old blackmail from the years they were best friends ("Oh yeah? Well, then everyone should know that _Jo knows every word of the _Wicked_ soundtrack_ – " "Oh, are we going there? In that case, _in sixth grade, Dean had a crush on Dr. Sexy_ – " "Jo, you promised!" – and Sam's voice, drifting in from the kitchen – "Don't be stupid, Jo, Dean still has a crush on Dr. Sexy!" "Traitors, all of you –") until Ruby verbally kicks their asses into setting the table. At four o'clock sharp, the turkey appears.

Ellen makes them all say grace, of a sort, because she's really the only civilized one among them and they really don't deserve her. Grace is simply a moment when Ellen clears her throat and they all go quiet. Looking at each of them in turn, she quietly says, "This is a family that knows loss. But we got each other, and we got it good, and for that, we're grateful." There's a moment of silence to appreciate what she's said, and also to remember the members of their ragtag family no longer here to celebrate with them, and then Ellen smiles. "Now let's eat."

And eat they do.

There's tofurkey for Sam and Jess, because they are fucking tragic like that and Dean and Jo eat twice what they should in real turkey to make up for all the dead bird the vegheads don't eat. There's twice the number of crescent rolls that can logically be consumed by a family their size that all get eaten anyway, Bobby and Ruby squabbling over the last one until Ruby pulls the pregnant card and Bobby grudgingly gives it up. Which Dean thinks really isn't fair considering just how much Ruby has eaten – the woman's even got an enormous pile of French fries on her plate because apparently that's what her hormones are demanding. Sam worries that their baby will be born with clogged arteries and Ruby just shrugs and says that the fries are like deep-fried crack, which makes everyone a bit nervous because they all have suspicions about Ruby's past, and some of the more popular theories have involved drug lords.

When Ellen asks Dean to help her with the dishes after dinner, citing his complete unhelpfulness earlier in the day, Dean really should pay attention to his senses of déjà vu and impending doom. Though, to be fair, the last time Ellen had used dirty dishes to rope him into talking about Cas, Dean had been seventeen years old, so he really can't be blamed for getting fooled a second time.

"So," she says, once they're set up at the enormous, industrial-size sink that still barely contains the monstrous pile of dishes they've managed to produce. She doesn't say anything more for a moment, waiting for Dean to either finish washing his first plate or say something. Dean catches Ellen's eye as he hands her a clean dish to dry, and suddenly he just knows.

"Cas?" he asks, closing his eyes and suppressing a sigh.

"Cas," Ellen confirms, and they go back to silently washing the dishes (and Jesus, how many plates can seven people use?). After a moment, she continues. "He came into the Roadhouse on Tuesday. Looks good. Taller than I expected. Ugly-ass trench coat, though."

She talks slowly, with long pauses between her sentences, like she's picking her words carefully or waiting for Dean to react. Dean doesn't say anything. Ellen raises an eyebrow and keeps talking anyway.

"I knew he was in town, of course, Missouri called me before he even showed. I'm starting to believe her about the damn psychic thing." Dean snorts, and Ellen smiles, because they both know they've believed Missouri about the damn psychic thing for a long time. Woman knows too much. "I'm gonna tell you this whole exchange, unless you say otherwise, kid." Goddammit, Dean wishes everyone would stop talking like he'll break if they talk about Cas in front of him. It's been fifteen fucking years, almost. Dean still doesn't say anything, just shoves a handful of forks at her. Ellen nods. "So he came by to say hi, and we did the pleasantries. I told it'd been a long time since Lawrence had seen him around, and he just agreed. Never was a chatty one.

"Asked him what brought him back to town." Damn good question, Dean thinks, after all this time. "Said he got the idea from one of his programs – "

She's cut off by a shattering sound, and it takes Dean a minute to realize the sound was him dropping a plate. He can feel his face flushing, but Ellen just waves a hand at him and goes to get the broom as he mumbles apologies. Dean tries to keep washing dishes while Ellen sweeps up broken glass, pretending that his hands aren't shaking in the soapy water as Ellen continues her story as though nothing has happened. Because, _shit._

"I don't know what his poison was, in the end, he didn't say, but – he's clean now, Dean. He looks good. Healthy. Trust me, hon, I know a junkie when I see one and Castiel…whatever it was, he's off it now. His program or whatever worked. Doesn't even drink – I offered him a beer before he mentioned the 'program,' but he told me he's dry now.

"Anyway, this idea that brought him back – he wasn't exactly into specifics, very vague about the whole thing, very Cas. He said he'd had to make amends to everyone he hurt with his addiction, and that he wanted to try maybe making amends to himself, too. So he wanted to start in Lawrence."

Ellen dumps the remains of the plate into the trash and takes up her position drying dishes next to Dean again. She stands a little closer now, shoulder occasionally brushing Dean's, and he would be lying if he said he doesn't take comfort in the contact.

"Asked him what he was doing in the Winchester house, and the bastard got sappy on me. What was it he said?" Ellen pauses, tilting her head up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "Something along the lines of – he's had very few happy moments in the past fifteen years, and my place and yours were some of the last of them, and he intends to stay in town for longer than a few nights in a rented Roadhouse room. He even almost smiled as he said it – you know that thing he does, with his eyes."

Dean knows. Fifteen years, and he knows. The way Cas' eyes crinkle at the corners and seem to sparkle a bit like a goddamn cartoon, and you know he's smiling even if his mouth doesn't so much as twitch. Dean can't quite picture how it must be now – how the crinkles are deeper, embedded in crow's feet, highlighted by a frown line or two. All he can see is the boy he knew.

After a few minutes where the only sound is the sloshing of the water and the swish of the towel wiping dishes dry, Ellen starts talking again. "He asked about you. All of you. Says he's sorry to hear about John, that he didn't know. Offered his congrats for me and Bobby, and for Sam."

"How'd he react about Jo and Jess?" Dean asks, because he can't help but remember exactly why Cas was sent away in the first place.

Ellen snorts. "Dean, he wears a little rainbow flag pin on the lapel of his stupid coat now, I think he's fine with it." And huh, it's unexpected that he'd be so open about it – _I'm not saying I want to leap from the closet covered in rainbows_ – but Dean can't deny that he feels his shoulders relax a bit in relief. Relief that they couldn't take Cas away, not really – they hadn't fucked him over for good at wherever Michael'd sent him.

"Says maybe he'll see you while he's in town," Ellen says, and Dean has to stop what he's doing so he doesn't break anything else. Ellen sighs, reaching over Dean's arms to take the pan he was washing from his hands and rinse it herself before drying it. "Look, I know you two didn't exactly part the best way, and now you've spent half your lives apart. But I remember, Dean, and I think you do, too, that you also spent half your lives together. I think maybe you oughta see him so the two of you can work out which of those is more important."

It's mom advice, Ellen advice, good advice, and he knows it. Dean begins to move again, mechanically, scrubbing the grease off the last of the cooking utensils before rinsing and handing it to Ellen. "You're probably right."

"Don't be an idjit, boy, she's always right," Bobby says from the doorway, where he's suddenly appeared as if from nowhere. Sneaky old bastard.

"Damn straight," Ellen grins, and Dean can't help but smile again in return.

"Now if you two princesses are done having whatever emotional moment I've managed to dodge, Sam's hormone-crazed hellbitch wants to know if there's dessert."

Dean spends the rest of the night brooding on the subject of Cas, distracted out of his reverie only by Ruby chucking French fries at his face and Sam puppy-dog eye-ing him like he wants to talk about Dean's _feelings_ or something, which, hell no. So eventually, Dean stands up, stretches, and, citing tryptophan poisoning or whatever the hell it is about eating stupid amounts of food that is just exhausting, goes to bed.

He takes hours to fall asleep, even after he hears everyone else stumble to bed in their respective guest rooms. He wakes up in the morning unable to remember his dreams, except to know that Cas was there, and Dean felt like he was drowning.

Friday is quiet – leftovers and family time. Jo and Jess are talking about finally moving out of their tiny and overpriced apartment and buying a house, maybe on one of the islands in the Bay. Ellen tries to counsel them about mortgages, while Dean extols the virtues of having a driveway and a garage and your own washing machine (he remembers his years in the dingy apartment paying for Sammy's schooling _way_ too vividly), and Ruby delightedly thinks of ugly and-or useless housewarming gifts, much to Jess' delight. (The friendship those two immediately struck up initially terrified Sam, and it still makes him nervous, which Dean and Jo find hilarious.) Later, Sam and Ruby tell them about the baby names they have picked out, which devolves into Jess making cooing noises at Ruby's gut and Sam looking like he's on the verge of either panic or proud papa tears. (For the record, the names are Mary for a girl, after Sam and Dean's mom, and Luke for a boy, which Ruby says is a family name on her side but refuses to elaborate further on the matter.)

Sam and Ruby and Jo and Jess all leave mid-afternoon on Friday – it's a long-ass couple of drives out to California, and Sam and Jess can only ever get a few days off work at a time. Sam's already gotten three calls about a new case, and every time his Blackberry dings, he looks more stressed; Jess just cites the fact that the nurses who couldn't get Thanksgiving off at least want the weekend, so she's gotta be there. So Friday finds an increasingly restless Dean left in the house with just Bobby and Ellen, until Bobby tells him to "get his act together, boy, or get the fuck out, because Dean's making him nervous with all this brooding shit."

So Dean gets the fuck out.

He drives.

He drives to the park, where he sits in the Impala for a full ten minutes, willing himself to get up and wander the old paths. But he doesn't. He puts his baby back in gear and drives away. Around back roads, county roads, state roads, and back again, never quite making it to the highway as the sun starts to go down and he has to turn his headlights on.

He eventually finds himself in his old neighborhood, just like he knew he would. He never pretended to himself that he wouldn't end up here tonight. The streetlights are just flickering on as Dean pulls onto the street he grew up on, well-lit too from the patches of lighted windows behind colored curtains.

There are no lights on at the old Winchester place.

Dean drives around the block.

There are still no lights on.

Dean drives around the entirety of his old neighborhood three times and is almost beginning to worry that he looks more than a little bit creepy when he finally spots a light in the window of his childhood home and a car – a small, sensible hybrid, of fucking course – in the driveway. And it's that, that little bit of physical evidence, that more than anything else, makes it hit home for him.

Cas is back.

Dean parks on the side of the road, across the street from the house, and tries to teach himself how to breathe again. He's not sure what he's doing here, or what he expects, or hell, even what he'll say. _Hi, Cas, long time no see, remember me, your high school boyfriend who got you sent to crazy Jesus camp? Hi, Cas, heard you were back in town, thought I'd stake out my old house where I heard you were living just so I could drop in and say hi. Hi, Cas –_ Well, he can start with hi, he supposes.

Eventually, after enough minutes pass to definitely up his creeper level about ten points, Dean gets out of the car and crosses the street. He pauses at the walkway to the house – he hasn't set foot here since he cleaned it out after selling it to Missouri. He said goodbye to this place so long ago, he didn't ever expect it to figure in his life again.

The cobblestones are the same, but someone's repainted the porch – it's a pale blue now – and Dean wonders vaguely if it was Missouri or one of the half dozen families that have rented it from her in the past decade. He trails his fingers up the smooth wooden railing, his footsteps falling heavier than they used to on the hollow stairs. The door is the same as it ever was, the doorbell, too, though now yellowed a bit with the years.

Dean never liked that doorbell. He knocks instead.

It takes a few seconds, barely enough time for Dean to shuffle from one foot to the other; but it's plenty of time for his palms to start sweating and his breath to start hitching and his brain to start berating him for thinking that coming here in the first place was ever a good idea, because how, how, _how_ can it be?

The door opens, and there's Cas. He's whole and _there_ and beautifully, unmistakably, _Cas_.

Dean can't help but stare. Cas looks…good, Dean is a little surprised to find, especially after what Ellen said about the trench coat. Like really friggin good. He's taller than Dean had expected, almost-but-not-quite Dean's height, and the part of Dean that's still the teenager that dated Cas gloats in the fact that he's still the tallest. He's wearing a rumpled suit, and Dean can see the coat he was forewarned about hanging on a hook just behind the door, clearly tossed there only a minute ago. Under the suit, Cas has filled out some, though he's still slim and maybe a bit pale and tired-looking. There's a five o'clock shadow showing on his jaw, and that stupid black hair is just as mussed as ever.

Ellen's right, Dean thinks – whatever Cas was on, he's obviously clean now, because in spite of the rumpled hair and the rumpled suit, he looks healthy and put together in a way that addicts don't, in a way that even high school Cas didn't.

Cas' eyes (still that stupid wonderful familiar blue, the blue that Dean's never seen anywhere else, except maybe on late-night drives across the country, in the sky over the mountains right before the sun starts to come up) widen slightly as he takes Dean in, recognition dawning in the fine lines that frame his features now. There are more frown lines in that face than Dean wants to see, but there are laugh lines hidden in there, too. The silence stretches out between them as they both just stare at each other, and Dean recalls (semi-hysterically) how Jo used to roll her eyes and tell them to tone down the eye sex, already.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly, and it's impossibly loud in the scant space between them. "Hey, Cas," he says quietly, his voice rough with emotion that he never intended to show.

It takes a second for Cas, still frozen in the doorway, to react, but when he does –. His eyes crinkle up in that way that means he's smiling even when his mouth isn't. The expression is so achingly familiar that the years just seem to start to melt a way, and Dean feels himself relax; though he refuses to acknowledge the way Cas' almost-smile brightens his whole face, how it makes Dean's heart do something horribly girlish that he won't even try to name.

When Cas speaks, his voice is deep and gravelly and completely unexpected.

"Hello, Dean."

_A/N, for realsies now: So uh, that's it. That's the fic._

_So this was my first attempt at Destiel, and my first serious multi-chapter fic, so thanks for your patience as I worked my way through figuring that out. I really really really really really - a whole page full of really's, Lemony Snicket style - appreciate all the support and positive feedback y'all have given me. It warms my heart, truly._

_An enormous thank you to my friend Lee, who, when I emailed him the words, "Melissa Etheridge's "Shriner's Park" - HS AU Destiel, y/y?" responded with a "AAAAAAH THAT SONG I HATE EVERYTHING WAH write that fic now please," and was equally enthused about all subsequent chapter drafts sent his way. Without him, this fic never woulda done got writ._

_I think that's basically all. I really liked working with this universe, and might do more with it - I'm currently working on a oneshot that goes into Jo and Jess' relationship, since it's kinda a random and bizarre ship, a little bit._

_But yeah, that's our show, thanks for watching._


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